


This Isn't What I Wanted (but I can't keep my filthy fucking mouth shut)

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, SBalpha, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Season Three AU, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Sterek Bingo 2017, The Alpha Pack, Wolf Derek Hale, sbdivergent, sbferal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Alt-S3A, wherein the alpha pack strikes at Derek shortly after taking Erica and Boyd. They kidnap Stiles and bite him, but Sparks aren’t made to be wolves. When the bite doesn’t take, Stiles’ self-preservation instinct makes a choice between dying and surviving at any cost. But the price paid is a steep one, and not something Stiles ever wanted for himself.





	This Isn't What I Wanted (but I can't keep my filthy fucking mouth shut)

**Author's Note:**

> The fifth of my fics for the Sterek Bingo Month event. Set in an alternate S3A, wherein the Alpha Pack strikes at Derek soon after taking Erica and Boyd, just at the start of the summer. And they, of course, go after the weakest member of the Hale Pack that they can find. Or so they think. I’ve taken some liberties with werewolf physiology, the physics of magic, and the rules of emissary, druid, and spark magic. Because _reasons._
> 
> Also, I used the following dialogue-prompt: _“Ok, first of all asshat, stop touching me. Second, that is never going to work out! Third, stop TOUCHING me.”_
> 
> Themes used:
> 
>  **Divergent** \- Because this fic offers up an alternative way of dealing with the Alpha Pack, this felt like a fitting use for the canon-divergent spot.
> 
>  **Alpha** \- Technically, I use alpha!Derek in every single fic for this event, so I could have claimed that spot with pretty much every fic. This one, however, has a special alpha!appearance by another character, so I chose to claim the spot for this fic.
> 
>  **Feral** \- It's hella hard to write anything from the POV of a feral character, so parts of this were done from a different POV for the sake of my sanity.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is a fun place to see what I'm up to, drop prompts, and talk fandom-stuff (or whatever) with me. I also love comments, so pretty please give me some love below!
> 
> ~ Sly

Stiles bit back a groan as he regained consciousness, head throbbing viciously. He was getting _really_ sick of being hit on the head by all and sundry. No one seemed to care that it was where Stiles kept his brain, a thing he happened to need _very much._ He did his best not to move or make noise, a large portion of his concentration going towards not letting his face twist up in pain. If his captor - or captors - didn’t know he was awake, there was no reason to alert them. Surprise was about the only thing Stiles had going for him. That, and folks tended to underestimate him since he was human. Or mostly so, anyway. He still wasn’t quite sure what the whole _spark_ thing was about, and no one had been very forthcoming with information regarding it. Deaton seemed to know more than he let on, though Stiles was about eighty percent sure Derek didn’t know anything more than Stiles did.

 

Peter on the other hand...

 

Peter definitely knew _something,_ but he didn’t seem inclined to share and Stiles had no intention of begging. So that was pretty much that.

 

All of which was pretty far beside the point, and Stiles had to wonder how long he’d been unconscious if his mind was running off on tangents so readily. He wasn’t entirely sure, but long enough for his Adderall to have at least _mostly_ cleared his system, anyway. Straining his ears, Stiles couldn't hear anything. He wondered if he was alone and hoped he was, if only to buy himself a little time to think of a plan. Still doing his best to project an air of _knocked unconscious,_ Stiles tried to assess himself and the situation without opening his eyes, moving, or otherwise giving anything away.

 

He was laying down, and the surface beneath him was hard but covered in fabric. Thicker than a mere blanket, and with a waterproof feel to it. Stiles had a feeling it was a sleeping bag. His legs were tied together at the ankles and knees, and his hands were bound behind him at the wrists. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but Stiles had found himself in worse situations. There was nothing covering his face, eyes, or mouth which was something, at least. It meant he could eventually open his eyes and look around, hopefully gaining information about his surroundings and/or his captor(s). It also meant he could scream for help, if the risk seemed worth it. Other than the painful headache situation, Stiles’ shoulders ached from the way he was tied and he felt a little banged up. As though whoever had manhandled him to his present location hadn’t given much thought to whether or not they were careful with him.

 

Finally, because he was going to have to risk it eventually anyway, Stiles opened one eye and peered around. He was alone, at least for the moment, which was something of a relief. The more time he had to come up with a plan, the better. It took some squirming, but Stiles eventually managed to get himself to a semi-upright position. He was kneeling, still trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, with his weight mostly on his knees. He knew he’d eventually need to rest it on his heels, but that would be even less comfortable so he’d avoid it as long as he could. And he’d probably eventually be forced to lay back down, but he hated how vulnerable that position made him feel so he wouldn’t give in on _that_ until he had no other choice. Flexing his arms and fingers as much as he could, Stiles struggled to remember everything his dad had ever taught him about how to get out of ropes.

 

The upside to having a father who was a cop, Stiles figured, was that he’d gotten some _unusual training_ while growing up. Such as how to disarm someone, how to use a firearm, and what to do if he was kidnapped. 

 

While part of his overactive mind focused on trying to shed the ropes, another part was analyzing his surroundings and looking for ways out of this mess. He appeared to be in an abandoned building of some sort. A bank, actually, if he had to guess. There was a huge vault door off to the left, closed up tight. The whole place was dusty and gross and oddly hollow-feeling. A pile of old, dead leaves had gathered against one wall, making Stiles wonder if there was a draft somewhere. He was definitely alone, at least for the moment. The light was dim, giving him no indication of what time of day it was or how long he might have been gone for. 

 

The last thing Stiles remembered was leaving his house, heading towards the Preserve. School had let out for the summer two weeks earlier and he’d been searching for Erica and Boyd. Derek and Isaac were looking as well, though no one else seemed overly concerned about the runaway teens. Probably because they’d been labeled runaways back when they’d still been attending school, but that wasn’t the point. The  _ point  _ was that Stiles didn’t appreciate the two of them just taking off and he had no plans on letting them bail out on things. Not after everything they’d been through together. Because yeah, sure; Derek wasn’t exactly Grade-A alpha material. But he was better than no alpha at all; better than being an omega. Better than being alone, without a pack or support system, at seventeen.

 

Stiles was hoping they hadn’t gone too far; that the pack bonds - something he’d been researching, along with druidic magic and earth magic and natural magic - were still strong enough to keep Boyd and Erica close. It took a lot of effort to sever the bond between an alpha and the ones they bit. Scott had proven it could be done when he’d fought the bond with Peter, but it hadn’t been easy for him. _At all._ So Stiles had been counting on that and he’d been looking up various abandoned buildings as well as natural cave systems and the like in the area, trying to figure out where they might have gone to ground. Assuming they _had_ stayed in the area.

 

But for whatever reason, Stiles had found that Beacon Hills - and the surrounding Beacon County - had an unusually high number of empty and abandoned buildings. The old Hale House and the train depot Derek had used as haunts were only a couple. The bank he was currently tied up in - Beacon Hills First National, if Stiles was remembering correctly - was another. There was also an abandoned mall, an abandoned distillery, and a number of empty warehouses. Stiles had even found a series of abandoned tunnels and buildings in the vicinity of Eichen House, the local insane asylum. Stiles was thinking of starting a committee to do something about all of the abandoned and/or vacant properties floating around the area, actually. They were just _asking_ to attract all sorts of vagrants and evil villians. Everyone knew the bad guys set up in abandoned buildings.

 

As evidenced by Stiles’ current predicament.

 

The sound of footsteps had Stiles debating for a moment. Should he fall to the side and pretend to be unconscious still? Should he meet them with a glare and defiance? Should he act timid and afraid? In the end, he didn’t have enough time to do anything other than consider his options before people were stepping into view.

 

It was a man and a woman, both older than Stiles by a fair amount. Probably around his dad’s age, though they’d aged well. The man was muscular in that way body builders were; in a way that made Derek look scrawny by comparison. He had a hard face, something about it seeming permanently angry. As though his rage was so deep-seated there was nothing that could make him shake it off, ever. The woman was slim, her bare arms faintly muscled. Her golden-brown skin, dark hair, and dark eyes combined to give her angular face an edgy sort of beauty that somehow screamed that she was dangerous. If Stiles passed her on the street there would be nothing overtly threatening about her, but every instinct he had was screaming that she was a predator; a killer. He believed it without a doubt, though he had no proof of it yet. She _felt_ deadly.

 

She glanced at him and Stiles smirked, defiant as always. In response, her eyes flashed alpha-red. Seconds later, her fingers were tipped with claws. Stiles also noticed that she was barefoot and her toes were claw-tipped as well. The man laid a restraining hand on her shoulder and said. “Kali.”

 

“He reeks of the Hale boy.” The woman - Kali, apparently - snapped, as though that were an offense of the highest order. “Among _others._ I’ve never understood the Hales’ obsessions with _humans._ It’s a weakness that shouldn’t be tolerated.”

 

“Duke has plans for this one.” The man pointed out, though he didn’t sound pleased by the idea. “Our goal is to lure the alpha here, remember? If we screw it up because you don’t like humans who are in the know...”

 

“If you can’t stand humans in the know, boy did you come to to the wrong town.” Stiles was speaking before he could stop himself; his brain spared a moment to curse the lack of Adderall in his system, though it didn’t do him any good. Once his mouth started, it was nearly impossible to stop. “I mean, it’s not just me. There’s quite a few of us in the know. Not to mention the hunters. Argents, did you know? They don’t take kindly to random werewolves traipsing around the place, either.”

 

Kali snorted derisively. “The Argents don’t scare us, little boy. We can handle a few hunters.” She smiled; it wasn’t pretty or nice. “And we can certainly handle your alpha when he comes to rescue you.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” Stiles laughed, a little hysterically. “Derek is _not_ my alpha, okay? I don’t have an alpha, but if I _did,_ it would be Scott. But Scott’s only a beta, not an alpha, so I don’t _have_ an alpha. Plus, like...human here, remember? Also, Derek barely tolerates me. He’s been known to throw me around and threatens to kill me on a fairly regular basis. So he won’t come for me, or whatever. Hell, I doubt he’ll even notice I’m missing.”

 

Kali tipped her head to the side, consideringly. “He believes that, Ennis. What sort of alpha would leave such a strong scent marker on a human they don’t care about? A human they have no intention of protecting. One who’s not pack.”

 

Ennis - and fuck, that was a horrible name; no wonder he’d turned evil - shrugged. “A piss-poor one, obviously. I mean, I don’t blame him for not wanting this runt in his pack, I suppose. But still, I’m surprised. When I smelled Derek all over him and his house...well. But then, Derek never was very bright.”

 

Kali hummed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I’m going to call Duke. See what he wants to do.”

 

She stalked away, out of the room they were in. Stiles watched until she was out of sight, then turned his eyes on Ennis and said conversationally. “So, what happens when I have to pee?”

 

Ennis made a face and walked away, following Kali out of the room. Stiles groaned and let himself fall over so he was laying on the sleeping bag again. Until or unless he could work himself free of the ropes - or his captors untied him - he was stuck. He might as well conserve energy in the meantime.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Duke, Stiles learned a couple of hours later, was the leader of an _alpha pack._ As in, a werewolf pack made up entirely of alphas. Duke was also short for _Deucalion,_ which was possibly a worse name than Ennis. There was also a set of twins - Stiles thought they were about the same age as him, maybe a year older - whose names were Ethan and Aiden. The twins were attractive enough, Stiles supposed, and identical enough that Stiles had trouble telling them apart. Aiden seemed more aggressive, with a perpetual scowl, while Ethan had shot Stiles an apologetic glance or two when he’d been in the room. Duke...was _blind._

 

Stiles hadn’t known a werewolf could be injured to an extent that wouldn’t heal, given what Peter and Derek had each managed to recover from. Anything short of a fatal blow seemed like it healed perfectly, and sometimes even seemingly fatal wounds healed. It made Stiles wonder how, exactly, Duke’s eyes had been damaged. He’d asked, but the alpha had simply smiled and said nothing. It made him wonder what Duke was planning. His cheerful smile and sunny disposition seeming at direct odds with the anger and tension radiating from his fellow alphas. They deferred to Duke, though not always gracefully, and it made Stiles wonder just how powerful the man was. It had him more than a little worried, actually.

 

He was left to his own devices for a while, still bound and not willing to even _try_ escaping because he could hear the alphas every now and then, in other parts of the building. It was clear he was never _really_ alone, though his guard(s) might sometimes be out of sight. Instead, Stiles tried to figure out how long he’d been missing for and what Scott and his dad’s schedules were. Depending on when they were each working, it was entirely possible no one would notice Stiles’ absence for a couple of days. Especially if the alphas who’d taken him were smart enough to use his phone to text reassuring things to one or both of them. Stiles wasn’t too sure about _all_ of them, but Deucalion seemed smart enough to be doing just that. Because they obviously wouldn’t want the Sheriff or Scott coming for Stiles; not when they were trying to lure out Derek.

 

Stiles wondered if they would get tired of waiting and give up, letting him go. Or if they’d decided Derek didn’t care about him so they might as well kill him. Or if their impatience would result in them _telling_ Derek they’d taken Stiles. In which case Derek _might_ come, or he might just tell Scott or Chris Argent. Or, in a worst-case scenario, he might do nothing. Shrug and go on with his life, because what did he care if Stiles had stupidly gotten himself embroiled in another supernatural mess. Derek had always told him to stay out of it, hadn’t he? For that matter, so had Chris, so even if Derek _did_ tell Argent, that wasn’t a guarantee of assistance.

 

By the time Stiles heard someone coming back, his stomach was chewing on itself and he was desperately craving some curly fries. Or Doritos. A Poptart. _Anything,_ really. He just wanted some food. It was Ennis who walked in, looking gleeful. Stiles actually found it a more terrifying expression on the man’s hard face than the anger he’d shown previously. Whatever it was that was making Ennis so happy all of a sudden...Stiles had a feeling it didn’t bode well for _him._

 

Ennis approached and Stiles went tense all over. The alpha’s eyes burned red and both claws and fangs made an appearance. ‘ _This is how I die...’_ Stiles thought, flinching back when those vicious claws swung down at him. He sucked in a stunned breath when they merely sliced through the ropes binding his knees. Ennis sliced through the ones around his ankles next, then manhandled Stiles to his feet. His wrists were still bound behind his back, but he wasn’t nearly as hindered as he’d been a few moments earlier so Stiles was counting it as a win. He was shoved along by Ennis until he reached the bank’s defunct employee bathroom, at which point his wrists were untied so he could pee without assistance, though Ennis stared at him unnervingly the whole time..

 

When he was done, Stiles prodded gently at the rope burn on his wrists, raw to the point of bleeding in couple of spots but overall not terrible. He side-eyed Ennis, wondering if he was about to be tied back up or if maybe he’d be fed or moved to a new location or what. He didn’t think he’d been allowed to void his bladder just so they could kill him, but he also didn’t understand the criminal mind as well as he sometimes pretended to. Ennis didn’t speak; just grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the huge bank vault. Standing there, Stiles swallowed hard when Ms. Morrell came into view, leading Deucalion despite the cane he had in his hands.

 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Stiles quipped, because humor and sarcasm were how he handled stress and anxiety and a whole host of other emotions. “Didn’t realize you liked hanging out with crazed kidnappers who are also potentially killers. I guess you learn something new everyday, huh?”

 

“Hush, Stiles.” Ms. Morrell said, in that gentle but firm way she had of speaking. She kept one hand on Duke’s arm as the twins opened the vault. “No one’s killing you, and that’s because of me. I’d advise you to hold your tongue, but I know you won’t.”

 

“Thank you, Marin.” Deucalion sounded amused. “That will be all, dear. You’re excused.”

 

With one last, cautioning look at Stiles, Morrell turned on her heel and headed back the way she’d come, disappearing into the bank. Stiles turned his attention towards the vault as the twins finished hauling it open and sucked in a stunned - _relieved_ \- breath. Inside were Boyd and Erica, looking a little rough around the edges but very much alive. Another girl around their age - a girl with dark hair and eyes and a hard cast to her pretty face that said she’d seen more than her fair share of horror despite her youth - was curled close to Boyd and Erica. The three of them turned wary eyes towards the door as it opened, then Erica made an anguished sound.

 

“Stiles...” She cried out, sounding on the verge of tears. She lunged forward, but Boyd and the unknown girl held her back, their eyes on the alphas surrounding Stiles. As she struggled against their grip, Erica continued saying his name, as though it were a prayer. “Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles...”

 

Suddenly, Erica went rigid and her eyes widened, flaring gold as she screamed.  “ _ Stiles!” _

 

A hand fisted in Stiles’ hair, dragging his head to the side sharply. Stiles hissed out a pained breath, then spit out between gritted teeth. “Erica, _don’t._ I’m fine, and I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Batman to your Catwoman, remember? Just trust me.”

 

“You shouldn’t be making promises you can’t keep.” Deucalion’s oddly accented voice was right near Stiles’ ear and he knew that the head alpha was the one who was gripping his hair. “I have _plans_ for you, dear boy.”

 

“My name is Stiles, not _boy.”_ Because Stiles’ mouth didn’t behave at the best of times, and it only seemed worse when he was in a life-or-death situation. “Stiles _Stilinski,_ as in, the son of Beacon Hill’s sheriff. So can I just say, you and your little _minions_ are pretty fucking stupid about who they chose to kidnap.”

 

Deucalion hummed, an amused little sound that did nothing good for Stiles’ nerves. “Your paltry human connections aren’t really a concern for me, Mr. Stilinski. As I said, I have _plans_ for you.” He tucked his fingers under Stiles’ chin and drew the boy’s face up, leaning down and inhaling deeply before continuing. “I have a feeling you’d make a _glorious_ wolf, assuming you survive the bite. And Derek is being a _mite_ stubborn about joining me, though I suppose it’s to be expected of Talia’s son. But I’m not leaving here without a new alpha for my pack. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to be turned, and then you’re going to kill Derek and join us.”

 

He paused, then added softly. “If you do _exactly_ as I say, without any sort of nonsense - if you go straight for your alpha’s throat and rip it out, then come right back to my side - I _might_ even be convinced to let these betas go, as a gesture of goodwill and gratitude.”

 

“Ok, first of all _asshat,_ stop touching me.” Stiles _really_ wanted this dude out of his face. “I’m _barely_ seventeen and this is creeptastically disturbing, you goddamn perv. Do all you alphas take lessons in that shit, because you top fucking Peter’s levels of creeper.”

 

Still talking, because words were really the only defense Stiles had most of the time, he added. “Second, that is never going to work out! Partly because I’m not killing anyone for you, and I’m sure as fuck not _joining_ your little group of kiddie-touchers, jesus fuck. But also because Derek doesn’t trust me as far _I_ can throw _him,_ which is _not far_ because he’s like, solid muscle and I’m _so not.”_ And then, because Deucalion’s fingers were still curled beneath his chin, Stiles snapped. “And third, stop _touching_ me.”

 

Deucalion just smiled wider, though he _did_ step back and let his hand fall away from Stiles’ face. “I admire your courage, Mr. Stilinski. We’ll see how strong your resolve stands when your siring alpha urges you to rip Derek Hale’s throat out, won’t we?”

 

Seconds later, Stiles felt teeth sink into the top of his shoulder, fangs tearing easily through his t-shirt before pressing into his flesh. The pain ripped through his body and he felt his throat working around a pained scream, though all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears. It felt like fire licking into his blood and he wondered why Scott hadn’t told him it felt like this; like dying; like burning alive. Wondered why anyone would agree to this, given how much pain he was in. He felt the alpha who’d bitten him - Ennis, if he had to guess - shove him forward, into the vault. He felt the hard, smooth stone floor under his hands and knees as he fell forward. It was cool against the fire in his veins so he let himself collapse down onto it, everything in him fighting the blackness creeping at the edges of his vision; at the edges of his mind.

 

He didn’t want to pass out.

 

He heard the echoing clang of the vault door shutting and locking; heard Erica’s gasps and whimpers and sobs; heard Boyd’s low rumble of a voice trying to soothe her. Felt hands rolling him onto his back, then tugging at the collar of his shirt, pulling hard until it tore and exposed the bite mark. He could feel it bleeding; feel wet heat against his skin and the way it made the fabric stick to him. It hurt, and he wondered at the way his body was still burning; at the heat still creeping through his blood. Wondered at how cool the hands prodding the edges of his injury felt. Marveled at and relished the cold stone beneath him.

 

But Stiles had never been one to give up, or give in, so he forced his eyes open. The person touching him wasn't, as he'd assumed, Erica. She was crouched next to him, Boyd soothing her with soft sounds and gentle touches to her back and hair, but she wasn't touching Stiles. Instead, it was the unknown girl who was poking at him, examining the edges of the wound and swiping a scrap of his ruined t-shirt over it, cleaning away the blood. Her touch was matter-of-fact, but not rough; as though she were trying to be gentle but wasn't entirely sure how to go about it.

 

“Who are you?” He rasped, hesitant to trust anyone he didn't already know in this situation.

 

“ My name is Cora.” Her voice was quiet but a little sharp around the edges; it reminded Stiles of Derek, though he wasn't sure why. She added lowly. “Cora  _ Hale.” _

 

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, eyes widening as he placed the name. Words tumbled out before he could stop or filter them. “You died in the fire.”

 

Cora laughed, and the sound was a little hysterical around the edges but Stiles figured that was to be expected. “I have to disagree there, actually. I _didn’t_ die. I thought everyone else had, but then I heard rumors...heard there was a Hale Alpha again...”

 

“Derek.” Stiles watched Cora nod, then flicked his eyes to Erica and Boyd before bringing them back to her. “They told you what’s happened recently?”

 

Cora shrugged one shoulder. “Not really? A little. I know Laura survived the fire, but she’s dead now. I know Derek is an Alpha. I know my uncle - Peter - is alive. I don’t know much else.”

 

Stiles lips curved up into a smile that was more of a grimace. “Tell you what, Cora Hale. We get out of this with both of us still alive, and I’ll tell you everything.” Groaning, he added. “How long does the bite feel like this for, anyway?”

 

Erica’s voice - meek again, like before she’d been bitten - broke into their conversation. “Like what? It shouldn’t feel like much of anything, Stiles.” Erica reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against Stiles’ shoulder, close to the bite but not touching it. “It should just feel like...well, like a  _ bite.” _

 

“It burns.” Stiles explained hoarsely, struggling to sit up. Cora helped him, and he was grateful even if he still wasn’t sure he trusted her. “It’s like fire in my veins, burning through my body. It wasn’t like that for you?”

 

Erica and Boyd shared a concerned look, then both shook their heads. “Ah, crap.” Stiles sighed, then craned his neck to look at as much of the bite as he could. It was bleeding, albeit more sluggishly than he’d initially assumed would be the case. “Any ideas on why it’s hurting me?”

 

“Actually...” Cora gestured to the nearest wall; the stone was a shimmering, veined, white-on-white. “This is hecatolite. Moonstone. It scatters moonlight, which means we’re effectively human while inside the vault. We can access our powers if the door is open, though they’ve been keeping it sealed with mountain ash when they bring us food. So maybe the bite can’t take right while you’re in here. It could be delaying the effect...”

 

“I’d think it would just feel like a regular bite still...” Stiles shrugged, then added. “But then, werewolf physiology and the physics of magic aren’t exactly my specialty. When you say _scatters,_ do you mean it diffracts light rather than refracting it?”

 

Cora stared at Stiles for a moment, then shrugged. “I mean, it might as well be an eclipse, except it lasts a hell of a lot longer. We’re basically sitting in a customized werewolf prison.”

 

Erica sniffled a little, then asked quietly. “What’s the plan, Stiles?” When Cora looked at her sharply, she simply shrugged. “Stiles always has the best plans.”

 

Stiles considered the possibilities for a few minutes before finally making a decision. “Okay, first things first...we need to be able to surprise them. So help me over to that part of the wall...” Stiles pointed to a spot along the wall the door to the vault was set in, which wasn’t in the immediate line of sight of anyone standing on the other side of the door. “While I’m still not turning, I’ll break the line of mountain ash. Be ready to rush the door as soon as there’s a good opening. Don’t worry about fighting anyone. The goal is _escape and get backup,_ not _fight.”_

 

“Stiles...” Cora sounded apologetic and annoyed at the same time, even as Boyd and Erica helped Stiles to his feet, though he winced with every movement, and started towards the place where he planned to break the mountain ash line. “Deucalion’s emissary laid the ash line. A human can’t just break it.”

 

“Maybe not.” Stiles agreed, turning to smile at Cora over his shoulder. He had his arms draped across Erica and Boyd’s shoulders, using them to support most of his weight as he used one foot to scuff through the mountain ash, making a gap in the barrier. “But I’m a spark, and this ain’t exactly my first rodeo.”

 

Seeing the hope on Cora’s face, Stiles prayed at least one of the werewolves trapped with him would be able to take advantage of the element of surprise and make it through the alphas for help. He really didn’t want this to be for nothing; didn’t want to fail them when they were counting on him so strongly. He silently vowed to be as much of a distraction as he could manage the second the door was opened. He’d buy them as much of a chance as he could, even if it cost his own life.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When the vault door finally opened, Stiles found himself being an immediate distraction. Not intentionally, but it happened nonetheless. The door swung open and Stiles immediately vomited sticky black tar. It was frighteningly similar to what he’d watched Gerard spew out when he’d been bitten by Derek during the final showdown with Jackson as a kanima, when he’d been full of the mountain ash Scott had been slipping him. Stiles dropped forward onto his hands and knees and coughed up more of the stuff, feeling weak and dizzy and aching all over. A keening sound passed his lips even as Marin crossed the - now broken - mountain ash line to his side. Stiles spared a moment to wonder if she knew it was broken and simply wasn’t saying, or if she was sufficiently distracted by Stiles’ sudden sickness and didn’t notice.

 

She helped pull Stiles to his feet, face pinched tight. “I’m sorry, Stiles.” She told him, even as she half-dragged him towards the vault door. “I didn’t know they were planning to bite you, or I’d have warned them that it wouldn’t take with you. I wish there was something I could do.”

 

Stiles whined miserably, but stepped carefully over the ash line, focused on making sure the alphas didn’t realize the barrier was down. This might be the only chance the others had; he had to make it count.

 

Ennis was outside the vault, but none of the other alphas were in sight. _For the moment._ Marin dropped Stiles at Ennis’ feet, then said softly. “I don’t know how much time he has. Sparks aren’t meant to be bitten. They _can’t_ be turned.” Shaking her head, she added. “I want no part of this. Excuse me.”

 

Ennis sneered as Marin turned and walked away, leaving Stiles to cough and spit another mouthful of black _ick_ onto the floor near the alpha’s shoes. He was shaking all over, and he could _feel_ the magic of his spark warring with the magic from the bite inside his body. It was a vicious heat that stabbed at him, as though broken and burning glass had been spread under every inch of his skin. He felt like he was being torn apart on a cellular level; as though the very fabric of what made him who he was - that held him inside his body - was being shredded, the tattered remains set on fire. He’d never realized someone could hurt so much and not _die_ from it.

 

But then, as he choked on more of the black stuff, spitting it out in a desperate attempt to keep his lungs clear for just a little longer, Stiles realized it _was_ killing him. Slowly; agonizingly...he was dying.

 

There was a sound off to one side - a hurt and horrified sort of noise - and Stiles turned his head to see who’d made it. In truth, he still wasn’t sure, because standing there - clearly having just spotted Stiles - were Scott, Derek, Allison, and _Stiles’ dad._ Stiles cringed, because he’d really hoped to keep his dad _out_ of the supernatural know-how, but given that he’d been kidnapped by alpha werewolves and had been missing for what felt like days...well, he guessed he could understand Scott filling the Sheriff in. He wondered where Allison’s father was; if Chris was off somewhere else in the bank, dealing with the other alphas. Or, more likely, if Allison had snuck out without his knowledge or permission. He sort of hoped the older hunter was around. Given the sheer number of alphas lurking around the place, Stiles figured they might need him. Maybe wherever Chris was, Peter and Isaac were, too. Like a sort of backup team; the ones who would cover their escape.

 

“Vault...” Stiles croaked, wanting Derek to know that his sister was alive. God forbid some of them didn’t make it out of this, he at least deserved that much peace of mind.

 

He didn’t need to bother, though, because the betas all rushed out as he was speaking. Boyd and Erica were behind the others in an instant, looking terrified and apologetic at the same time. Cora, however, stopped beside her brother with wide eyes. Derek looked like he’d seen a ghost, and gasped out his sister’s name in shock. A few seconds later, Derek jerked his head, silently ordering the teenage girl behind himself and the others. Cora hesitated, but in the end did as she was told. Stiles was grateful. He wished he was capable of moving himself behind that protective line of bodies; wished he could get away from the alpha who’d bitten him and sentenced him to die in the process.

 

Suddenly, a hand fisted in his hair, dragging him up to kneeling. Claws pressed to the vulnerable skin beneath his throat, even as a pained cry slipped past Stiles’ lips. “Well, well, well...isn’t this funny, Derek?” Ennis’ voice was mocking. “Seems like you’ve got shit luck when it comes to the humans you choose, doesn’t it? Every time I generously bite one for you, look what happens.”

 

“Maybe you should stop biting people without their consent.” Stiles gasped out, hating the tortured look on Derek’s face. He wondered who else Ennis had bitten; who Derek had been forced to watch die this way, slow and gruesome. “That’d solve things nicely.”

 

“Mouthy little shit, isn’t he?” Ennis’ tone was conversational and snide at the same time, and it had Stiles grinding his teeth in anger. “But then, so was she. You really do have a type, don’t you? He even looks a bit like her, with the dark hair and the pretty eyes and that creamy skin dotted with moles...” He laughed when Derek snarled, then taunted. “Getting déjà vu yet? Thinking about how it felt, sinking your claws into her to end her pain...and wondering if it’ll feel the same to put this one out of his misery?”

 

Derek made a wounded sound, and Noah took a half-step towards his son before Scott’s hand on his arm brought him up short. Scott looking anguished as well; looked like he wanted to rush forward but knew he couldn't if he wanted even a _chance_ at saving Stiles. And Stiles _hated_ seeing that look there. Hated the way his father looked like he was losing everything; looked the way he had the day the doctors had told them there was nothing they could do for Claudia and it was only a matter of time. Hated that he was being used to bring up some equally torturous memory for Derek; some demon from his past that probably still gave him nightmares, alongside the ones of Kate and the Hale fire.

 

Hated _Ennis_ for doing this to him; to _all of them._

 

And suddenly, Stiles had a mouthful of fangs and he could feel his spark - bright and glowing and stronger than the creeping, clawing pain of the bite’s magic. The werewolf magic was like poison in his blood, but his spark was stronger than it for the moment. Strong enough to blast Ennis off his feet. Strong enough to propel Stiles’ body as he whirled around and pounced on the alpha. Strong enough to push out the fangs his body _didn’t want;_ to enable the transformation it was fighting against, willing to kill him before allowing it. Except now, in his rage, it _was_ allowed; it was encouraged, even. Stiles felt flesh tear beneath his claws; tasted the coppery tang of blood as it burst across his tongue, fangs sinking into a vulnerable throat and _tearing._

 

The next thing Stiles felt was the red-hot burn of another magic pushing its way into his body. It was strong, and fierce, and wild. It latched onto the baying wolf that was snarling at the way his spark kept trying to push it down; push it _out_ in sticky-black puddles of ick and mess. This was a spark as well, but one that wrapped securely around the wolf-magic and made it stronger; gave it a fighting chance against the glowing flicker of light Stiles carried inside him. But even with this boost, Stiles knew it wouldn’t be enough. The wolf was fighting for its life - for _Stiles’_ life - but it wouldn’t be enough. The spark was stronger; stronger than the wolf, and stronger than the burning red alpha spark he’d swallowed down as he killed Ennis, and stronger than Stiles had ever realized. Strong enough to kill him, rather than allow this foreign magic into its host; into _him._

 

A furious scream that shifted into an alpha’s roar halfway through echoed around the cavernous room, and Stiles’ head snapped up with a snarl. That sound meant _threat,_ and he wasn’t having any of that. He’d just finished protecting his loved ones, and he wasn’t about to let someone else step in and hurt them. His eyes burned red, a flicker of golden light around the outside of his irises as the two types of magic inside him did battle. Kali roared again, even as Derek and Scott urged the weakened betas back towards the vault. It had been a prison, yes, but now it was out of the line of fighting and the safest place for them to be. Allison balked when Scott tried to urge her in as well, and so did Noah; Stiles wasn’t the least bit surprised by either of their reactions. Neither of them was the sort to take a backseat during a fight.

 

Derek and Scott both slid into defensive stances in front of the vault door, ready to protect the vulnerable members of the Hale pack. To Scott’s left, Allison nocked an arrow in her bow and took aim at Kali while to Derek’s right, Noah trained his gun on the snarling she-wolf. But Kali had eyes only for Stiles, who was crouched over the body of Ennis. Stiles assumed, from the sheer amount of fury in Kali’s expression, that she and the now-dead alpha had been in some sort of relationship. It was the only thing he could think of that would paint that sort of rage across someone’s face; the loss of one you loved. Stiles was intimately familiar with the feeling...and with the way it could twist your features into something else entirely. Had seen it on Derek’s face, and his father’s, and his own.

 

He might have felt pity for Kali, once; sympathy, even. But the red-drenched wolf inside him was snarling and snapping, straining to get forward. A low, rumbling growl spilled from Stiles’ lips and he bared his fangs threateningly at the female alpha. She smelled like her alpha spark, bright and burning and tantalizingly close. He could feel the wolf’s desire for that power. For the strength that would let them live through his spark’s attempt to burn the wolf out of him. Kali roared again, and this time Stiles roared back. Then, before Kali could strike, Stiles was moving.

 

He’d been fast as a human, but often graceless. As likely to trip over his own feet - or worse, _nothing_ \- as he was to make it where he was going. Now, that gracelessness was gone; washed away by the power singing through his body. He was faster, too; fast enough to have Kali’s wiry body beneath him before she realized he was moving. She snarled up at him, bare inches between their fangs, and flipped Stiles off of her a second later. Stiles was on her again in an instant, taking her back to the floor, determination and desperation driving him.

 

Everything was hazy around the edges; blurry and red-soaked and disorienting. But he could feel Kali’s alpha spark like it was a living thing all its own; like it was _calling_ to him and the magic already inside him. He _needed_ it, if he wanted to stay alive. If he failed - if he couldn't get Kali’s spark from her - then he would die and the alphas would decimate his family and friends; his _pack._ That wasn’t allowed; couldn't be allowed. Stiles would protect them, no matter the cost. He felt Kali’s claws digging into his side; felt them shred through his flesh as easily as a hot knife through butter, and the wet heat of his blood spilling down his side in their wake. Felt her own body give way to _his_ claws, the scent of copper and salt flooding the air, some of it his and some of it hers and all of it making him more desperate than before.

 

Stiles felt his forearm snap, the bones breaking apart under his skin, when Kali sent him flying across the room and into a wall with a well-aimed kick. Stiles screamed, part pain and part fury. He stood, arm cradled close to his body, panting heavily. He narrowed red-and-gold eyes at Kali, feeling _his_ spark roaring into life again. Stiles knew, with sudden certainty, that his magic wanted him to live just as much as the wolf wanted it. It was only that the two things couldn’t coexist in one body and would rip him apart fighting over which would remain. But if the wolf was stronger, his body would heal just as fast as it was being hurt and the spark he’d carried inside for the past seventeen years would burn _itself_ out instead of the wolf; instead of _him._

 

Kali approached, grinning ferally and clearly certain that she would win this fight. After all, Stiles had been an alpha for only a few short minutes; had been bitten mere hours before that with the change delayed until he’d been let out of the vault again. He had no real fighting experience. He was no match for Kali, experienced fighter and alpha that she was. Except Stiles had _magic_ in him, at least for the moment, and he wasn’t going down easy. He waited until Kali rushed at him, and let her slam his body to the floor beneath him. He rolled quickly, and the second Kali’s back was to the floor, he let his spark loose. It pinned her to the floor with a pulse of energy, and through the red-tinted view of his alpha eyes Stiles could see the golden ropes holding her in place. Kali screamed and thrashed beneath him, but she wasn’t going anywhere. Stiles had her exactly where he wanted her; where he _needed_ her.

 

As Kali glared up at him, a heaving cough wracked Stiles’ slender frame. He turned his head, spewing out an alarming amount of sticky black tar. When he got his lungs and airways clear of the stuff, Stiles dragged the back of his unbroken arm across his mouth, wishing he could get rid of the oily taste. Kali had fallen still beneath the magic still holding her to the floor, and she was laughing as she watched him from under her eyelashes.

 

“Some _alpha_ you are, boy.” She sneered, eyes tracking over his lithe body, streaked red and black as the wolf tried to put him back together even while his magic ripped him apart. “You’re going to die, in a matter of hours. Not even being an alpha will save you if your body rejects the bite.”

 

“ Maybe not.” Stiles agreed, voice lisping around the fangs he wasn’t yet used to. He leaned down, still straddling Kali’s waist. “But I’ve got an idea of what might save me, so we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He huffed out a little laugh and added. “Then again, you’ll be dead, so I guess  _ you  _ won’t be seeing  _ anything.” _

 

Kali snarled and Stiles laughed again, feeling wild and edgy. He had his prey trapped beneath him. His salvation was thrumming quietly under her skin. He leaned down and, without hesitation, sank his fangs into the vulnerable skin of her throat. A swift motion of his head had blood dripping down his face even as he turned his head and spat out the shredded remnants of Kali’s throat - flesh and blood and a piece of her esophagus, if he was identifying the gore correctly. Stiles sucked in shuddering breaths of air, head dropping back as he felt her alpha spark joining the first. It wrapped around the wolf as well, an added layer of protection from the heat of his original magic. He felt the bones in his arm heal, followed swiftly by the various claw marks all over his body. It was only a few heartbeats before his body was whole again.

 

The spark inside him, golden and glowing, was dimmer now. It shrank away from the burnished red of the twin alpha sparks; the wolf wrapped up in them stronger and more deadly than before.

 

“S-stiles?” The tentative sound of Scott’s voice had Stiles’ head coming around, whip quick. Scott paused, a good fifteen feet of space still between them, and held both hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, buddy. You, uh...you weren’t looking too good there. Had us all kind of worried. You feeling any better?”

 

Stiles head tipped to the side. He huffed out a low sound on a breath of air, then felt his gums itch as his fangs slipped back into them. Flexing his jaw against the odd feeling of his face being reshaped back into his own, and wiggling his blood-tacky fingers as his claws receded as well, Stiles considered Scott’s question. He felt _different,_ but he wasn’t sure that was necessarily _better._ He felt stronger. He felt more powerful. He felt a little overwhelmed by the way everything smelled stronger and sounded louder; by the way he could literally _taste_ the air and everything in it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and took several long, slow pulls of air. When he opened them again, the hazy red film was gone from the world.

 

“Not sure.” Stiles rasped, because though his body had healed itself he could still feel that black crap clinging to the inside of his lungs and throat; coating the inside of his mouth and making him wish for a toothbrush. He turned and gave a hacking, gagging sort of cough before spitting out a congealing wad of black gunk, then managed to shoot Scott a weak smile. “Don’t think I’m dying anymore, so there’s that, anyway.”

 

Stiles heard footsteps and an approaching heartbeat to his right and his head turned sharply even as a low warning growl started from somewhere deep in his chest. Noah froze, face twisted into an approximation of concern and agony and guilt and fear and a dozen other things Stiles could probably identify if he took the time, because he knew his father’s face as well as his own. And he hadn’t meant to growl at his dad, obviously, so he immediately ducked his head and managed a sheepish look from under his lashes.

 

“Sorry, Daddy-o. Still adjusting.” Stiles stepped forward, relieved when his dad didn’t shrink away from him. He let himself get pulled into a hug, breathing in the scent of _family_ and _home_ and _pack._ Everything about Noah’s scent wrapped around him and told him he was safe, and loved, and that he belonged; it soothed some of the wild inside of him, just a little.

 

“Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again.” Noah said, and his voice was sharp but Stiles knew it wasn’t from anger, but from worry; from the fear of losing the only thing he had left of Claudia. He let out a shuddering breath, squeezing Stiles tighter for a minute before adding softly. “At least I don’t have to worry about you getting sick or hurt anymore, right?”

 

Stiles nodded, throat tight, and burrowed closer to his dad’s chest. He inhaled deeply again, so grateful that he had a dad who was so amazing and understanding and supportive. “Werewolf perks.” He admitted, laughing a little around the words.

 

When the Sheriff finally released Stiles - letting the teenager take a step back - Stiles suddenly found himself with his arms full of a hysterical teenage girl, blonde curls sending a wave of cotton candy-scented sweetness into his nose as she shook and sobbed and thanked him. “Hey, hey...come on, now.” Stiles said soothingly before turning his head and sneezing, three times in rapid succession.

 

Laughing through her tears, Erica drew back and smiled up at him. “Bless you.” She said primly, then added in a softer voice. “Thank you, Stiles. I knew...even when I thought you were dying, I _knew_ you were going to get the rest of us out. You really are my Batman.”

 

“And you’re my Catwoman.” Stiles promised, because it was true and also because he could see how much Erica needed to hear it; to know that someone would save her when she needed it without forgetting that she was strong. “But you also smell odd and I think I need a little space, because part of me sort of wants to snap and snarl at you until you submit...”

 

“Oh...” Erica paled a little and staggered back, away from Stiles and into Boyd’s waiting arms. “I didn’t even think about you being an alpha now...”

 

Cora cleared her throat, turning her head a little without moving from where she was standing securely in the circle of her brother’s arms. “Thank you. You didn’t know me, but you were determined to save me anyway. You don’t know what that means to me.”

 

“You’re Derek’s.” Stiles said, shrugging a little helplessly. Because even now, with the wolf inside him bristling a little at all of the wolves near them - all of the _non-pack_ he was surrounded by - he knew he’d do it again. Cora belonged to Derek, and Derek was...maybe not a friend, but an ally for sure. Cora was Derek’s through pack, and through blood, and Stiles knew that if they found themselves back in that vault that every instinct he had would demand he bring her back to Derek if he could.

 

Suddenly, the scent of gunpowder and wolfsbane met Stiles’ nose - sharp and burning and flowery - and he spun around to see Chris Argent. He was pinned against Deucalion’s body, sharp claws at his throat, looking mildly inconvenienced by the whole thing. Behind the alpha wolf trailed the twins, each holding a prisoner of their own in a similar manner. Stiles silently hoped it was Ethan - the kinder of the two twins - who was holding Isaac; Peter deserved Aiden’s aggression far more than the vulnerable baby-faced beta did. Allison made an angry sound, her bow immediately trained on Deucalion.

 

He tipped his head towards her and said pleasantly. “Mind your manners now, little huntress. Arrows usually just piss me off, and I doubt you want me angry while I’m this close to your father.”

 

Deucalion’s head shifted around, nostrils flaring, until he was finally looking at Stiles. Or at least, he had his head turned more-or-less in Stiles’ direction. “Still alive, then, Mr. Stilinski? Good for you. And an alpha, too. Not exactly an even trade, considering you took out two of mine when you were meant to be an _addition,_ in place of Derek, but I’ll accept it. Perhaps you can even persuade him to join us, since he seems _so_ fond of you.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes, fangs and claws reappearing as he snapped. “I told you I wasn’t joining you, and I meant it. So you can take your remaining minions and get the fuck out of _my town,_ or you can stay and die.” Baring bloody fangs at Deucalion, he added. “Because I _will_ kill you if you don’t walk away, right now.”

 

Deucalion smiled, head tipping a little to the side. “So arrogant. Do you honestly think you can take me in a fight, Mr. Stilinski?”

 

“I know I can.” Stiles jerked his chin at Chris and said. “Let him go, and I’ll take you on. One-on-one. If you can take me down - and keep me there - I’ll join you, on the condition we leave Beacon Hills and never come back, leaving everyone else alone. If I take you down...well, you’ll be dead, and that’s that problem neatly solved.”

 

Deucalion smirked, both of them ignoring the shouts and protests of the others present. “I do like a bargain, you know. But how can I trust your little friends to honor your promise of a one-on-one fight?”

 

Stiles took a trembling breath, and said. “Because if any of them try to interfere - if they fire a weapon, if they jump into things, if they do _anything_ \- then I’ll forfeit and go with you.” Deucalion’s smile widened and he added. “The twins can’t interfere either, and they’re going to have to let Peter and Isaac go as well. If anyone else is hurt during this, _you_ forfeit.”

 

There was a tense pause, then Deucalion inclined his head. “Very well. Ethan, Aiden...stand down.”

 

Isaac rushed to Derek the second he was free, while Peter took a moment to straighten his hair and clothing before joining his family. He raised an eyebrow at Cora. “Well, well...look who’s still breathing. Hello, niece.”

 

“I could say the same for you.” Cora said in a low murmur, seeming uncertain. “Hello, Uncle Peter.”

 

After another moment, Deucalion let go of Chris’ throat. Chris glared, but stomped over to his daughter. He pulled Allison into his arms, and Stiles was grateful everyone was safe. He hated how his dad looked terrified, but Stiles knew what he was doing. He had taken down Ennis, and Kali. He had the remains of his natural spark and the power of two alphas inside of him. He was fast, and strong, and more than capable. Deucalion was cocky, and blind, and too used to using treachery to defeat others. In an outright fight, Stiles was certain he’d win.

 

Until, of course, Deucalion _shifted._ He became something monstrous. Huge and horrifying, moreso even than Peter had been as an alpha. And it was clear that, in this form, Deucalion could _see._ Well, there went one of Stiles’ advantages, anyway.

 

“Shit...”

 

Stiles took a deep breath, then rolled his neck and let his eyes bleed red. He kept _his_ spark leashed for the moment, not wanting to give away that he had a small degree of magic at his disposal. He felt his jaw shift, a sharp pain radiating through it as the bone cracked and grew into a muzzle. He felt his body stretch and grow; the world shifted around him as he got taller. He could feel fur sprouting over him; could feel his bones changing shape beneath his skin. His shoes and pant shredded as his feet changed, and when he took a few steps forward he could hear his claws clicking on the tiled floor. Deucalion growled.

 

Stiles echoed the sound, dropping down to all fours and crouching. He wasn’t as large as Deucalion. Wasn’t even as large as Peter had been. But he _was_ more lupine than either of them; less of a mutation and more true to what a wolf _should_ be, though still vaguely humanoid in body shape. His fur was the same rich, dark brown as his hair and he could have easily approached Deucalion on his hind legs, but this - down on all fours - felt more natural; felt like what his body was made for. His front paws were almost hand-like - clearly dextrous, with long claw-tipped fingers and thumbs - but they were padded like a canine’s. He could feel the way his skull had changed; the way his mouth and nose were drawn forward into a muzzle; the way it moved when he snarled, peeling back his lips to bare his teeth. Could hear the way he was panting, like a dog; breath moving differently through the new shape of his mouth and throat. Could feel the way his ears could lie flat against his head, though they were currently upright and tilted forward in aggression. His tail - and fuck, it was weird that he had a tail - was stiff and raised, while his weight was shifted forward, over his front legs, ready to charge. He might have been embarrassed about being naked, except it seemed like such a distant concern, given the changes his body had undergone.

 

Deucalion roared and charged, and Stiles met him halfway. They went down in a tangle of limbs, claws slicing and jaws snapping, rending any flesh they could on their opponent. Stiles could hear his friends calling out encouragement; could hear his father muttering a prayer in Polish under his breath; could hear the way several heartbeats thundered and skipped anxiously. But he did his best to filter it all out; to ignore the scent of fear and distress that was slowly saturating the air. Instead, he focused on Deucalion. Every time Stiles thought he had the alpha pinned, he found himself tossed aside like a ragdoll. It would have been more frustrating, except Deucalion hadn’t managed to pin _him_ at all. Stiles was faster than him. Whether because of his youth or the extra alpha spark or his slimmer build, Stiles wasn’t sure, but he _was_ faster.

 

So he darted in, catching his claws against Deucalion’s ribs; his back; his arms...wherever he could reach. True, the older alpha healed quickly - quicker than Stiles, it seemed - but he wasn’t having an easy time getting his hands on Stiles to cause injury. The worst of it was from Deucalion repeatedly throwing him across the bank; from the way his body slammed into pillars and walls before he regained his feet and tried again. Darting in close again, Stiles sank his teeth into the meat of Deucalion’s thigh, savoring the scream of anger and pain the alpha let out, even as he danced back out of reach again.

 

Deucalion was  _ furious. _

 

He roared, and Stiles could _feel_ the way the older man’s alpha spark raced through his blood. It wasn’t doing well, that extra bit of magic. It was tainted, the red color pulsing black around the edges. It was sick; diseased; twisted, from being inside a host corrupted by rage and madness. Stiles imagined Peter’s spark had been much the same way; that his feral status had twisted the magic he’d stolen from his niece. He wondered if that taint was part of why Derek had had so much trouble with his betas; with functioning as an alpha. Wondered how long it would take the spark to wash clean again, once free of that madness. Wondered if Derek would ever _really_ be free of it.

 

The distraction of his thoughts only lasted a few seconds, but it was long enough that Deucalion got his hands on Stiles for a few agonizing heartbeats. Teeth and claws freed him again soon enough, but Stiles was positive now of what he needed to do. It was going to _hurt._ Bitterly, in fact; viciously. But he _had_ to, if he wanted to bring the alpha down. If he wanted to end this, once and for all. End the alpha pack and their reign of terror. End the insanity warping the alpha’s mind, whatever the reason for it.

 

Stiles circled Deucalion quickly, jumping onto the larger alpha’s back and immediately latching on, like a burr. His hind legs curled around Deucalion’s hips, clinging. His hands slid around Deucalion’s torso - just under his arms - and his claws sank viciously into Deucalion’s pectorals. He curled them there, under the flesh, refusing to let go. In truth, if Deucalion wanted Stiles off him, he’d probably have to remove Stiles’ hands; sever them at the wrist. The next thing Stiles did was sink his teeth into the top of Deucalion’s shoulder. Ironically, it was in the same spot Ennis had bitten Stiles.

 

With claws and fangs buried deep, Stiles reached again for his spark. He ignored the way Deucalion was clawing at his arms and legs, roaring and thrashing and doing his best to get Stiles off of him. Stiles ignored the people he loved, who were watching and crying out. He ignored everything but the spark he was coaxing into doing his bidding, one last time. It resisted, which was unsurprising given that Stiles had barely used it before this and given that what he was trying to make it do was the opposite of what it wanted. But Stiles was stubborn, and determined, and in the end it obeyed. The magic came to the surface, then seeped out, pushing into Deucalion’s body.

 

The alpha screamed with pain as the foreign magic entered him and Stiles clenched his jaw against Deucalion’s shoulder, struggling not to scream as well. This was hurting him, too, but it was necessary. He pushed harder, using the golden magic to seek; to find the place where Deucalion’s alpha spark was anchored. Once he’d found it, pulsing and fierce and _sick_ but stronger for it, he let the spark wrap around it. And _fuck,_ that hurt worse; that was _agony._ That was a pain so intense it made every part of him ache; it stole his breath; it spoke of death. But Stiles didn’t relent. He cradled the red-black glow in his spark and _pulled._ He drew his spark back into himself, bringing Deucalion’s with it.

 

The alpha fought, of course. He roared and snarled and clawed harder at Stiles. He slammed himself backwards against a wall, repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to get the teenager off of him. But the pain Deucalion was inflicting was nothing compared to having his spark outside of himself; to having it wrapped around the damaged alpha spark inside of Deucalion. If he could withstand that, he could withstand _anything._ So Stiles kept pulling, slowly but surely. Every bit of him was focused on stealing that extra magic for himself. Without it, Deucalion would be no match for him; for _anyone._ Assuming he even survived the forceful removal of his alphadom, that was. There was every chance this would kill Deucalion. Stiles was half-afraid it would kill _him._

 

When he finally managed to pull his magic - and the new magic - into his body again, the result was immediate and obvious. Deucalion dropped to the floor, Stiles finally releasing him and falling to the ground beside him as he collapsed. Within seconds, Deucalion had shifted back into his human form, shaking all over and choking on his own blood. It didn’t take long before he felt still, dead at last. Seconds after that, though Stiles wasn’t in any position to notice, Ethan and Aiden slipped silently away.

 

It would have been cause for celebration, if it weren’t for the fact that Stiles wasn’t faring much better. He was still in his alpha form, though he’d grown - more muscled; taller; head and jaw larger yet. He was twitching on the floor, curling into himself as every muscle in his body spasmed. He howled and growled and screamed, the sounds shifting between human and animal. Inside him, the two alpha sparks he’d stolen first did their best to insulate him from the damaged parts of the new one. The tattered remnants of his original spark was burning itself out trying to _fix_ the spark he’d taken from Deucalion; to cleanse it of the madness that had twisted it into something unclean and vile. And Stiles curled into himself, doing his best to weather this newest influx of power.

 

The wolf whined, and wrapped itself around Stiles, shielding him the best it could. Stiles let himself sink into the warmth and protection of the animal that was now a part of him. He let it surround him, blocking out the world and the pain and the part of him that felt empty as his spark exhausted itself at last and went out. The battle for his body was over, and the new werewolf magic had won. His spark had done the best it could, before it was gone, and the newest red spark was well on its way to healing as it finally twined together with the other two. The triple powers surrounded the wolf, who kept its place curled around Stiles.

 

Because Stiles had been a human teenage boy as recently as an hour ago, and his mind was in no way prepared for the changes his body had just gone through. It wasn’t prepared to handle the power; the strength; the _potential_. It wasn’t _ready._ So the wolf would stand guard, until he was. The wolf would protect him, and keep him safe and sane, until he was able to take control. Until the moment Stiles was willing and able to accept the wolf as a _part_ of him, rather than a separate entity.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Derek stared at the alpha werewolf that had collapsed in the middle of the marble floor. He knew - with absolute certainty, he _knew_ \- that it was Stiles. Smart-mouthed, sarcastic, spastic Stiles. Loyal, intelligent, filter-less Stiles. It was someone who had been completely, totally, irrevocably human. Moreso than anyone else Derek had ever met, Stiles had been human. _Painfully so,_ at times, like when Gerard had beaten him. Like when he'd been helpless against werewolves, and the kanima, and even their human foes. Human to the point of exhaustibility, something Derek had only managed to push himself to a couple of times, and only when he'd been severely injured or poisoned first. Stiles was fragile, but fierce; he was something that could shatter with ease but which stood strong under all sorts of pressure.

 

And for all that Stiles was pack - for all that Derek had been thinking of him that way since before he'd asked Stiles to cut off his arm that time - it had never once occurred to him to bite the boy. Because Stiles was  _ human. _

 

Which sounded stupid, because Boyd and Erica and Isaac had all been human. Hell, _Jackson_ had been human, much as Stiles liked to argue the point sometimes. But there had been something about Stiles that had made Derek's wolf rebel at the idea of biting him. Not because Stiles would be a bad wolf. Quite the opposite. Derek was positive Stiles would take to lycanthropy with ease. No, it was just that he had some quality - something that screamed _human_ \- in greater concentration than everyone else.

 

It hadn't hurt that Stiles had never shown any inclination towards taking the bite. Derek had never gotten the impression that Stiles was jealous of the others; that he _wanted_ the bite. If he'd asked...well, Derek wasn't sure what he would have done. Hopefully _not_ bitten him, considering how poorly the teen had reacted to Ennis' bite and the clusterfuck the situation had become with Stiles' apparently mad grab for alpha power.

 

Derek...wasn't sure what to make of the whole thing, honestly.

 

The Sheriff started towards Stiles' prone body, but Derek stopped him with a hand on his arm. Refusing to flinch under the furious glare, Derek spoke softly but firmly. “He hasn't shifted back. That's not good, because it means his control is probably nonexistent. He'd never forgive himself if he hurt you, Sheriff. Don't put him in that position.”

 

The Sheriff's shoulders slumped and he nodded, looking stricken as his eyes went back to his son. “R-right. He's a...one of _you,_ now. Right? Like Scott and the others.” After a long, slow exhale, he added. “Guess you should call me Noah, then, if he's going to be in your pack.”

 

“I don't know that he will be.” Derek admitted uncertainly. “He's an alpha.”

 

“ More than one alpha can't be in a pack?” Noah asked curiously, though his eyes never left Stiles, who was still laying on the floor, curled into himself in a pose that was nearly canine. “Thought the group Stiles just wiped out was a whole  _ pack  _ of alphas.”

 

“Alphas tend to be territorial.” Derek couldn't help flinching at the sound of Cora's voice, so like Laura's in tone and inflection but with its own special twist. “Derek's still new to it, but he's also a born wolf. I'd imagine he can handle it. But Stiles is newly turned _and_ newly an alpha. I don't know how he'll hold up to his instincts.”

 

“Stiles has a way of doing the thing you'd least expect, or that you'd consider impossible, and making it seem entirely effortless, if not accidental.” Noah sounded both impressed and exasperated by that fact. “I wouldn't discount anything at this point.”

 

After a moment, he added. “Actually, considering that...I hear what you're saying about control, Derek, but that's my only child that's collapsed on the floor, not moving. So I'm going to have to go check on him, regardless of the risk, and I'm going to ask you not to try to stop me. I don't want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.”

 

Derek wanted to hold the man back, but he didn’t doubt the veracity of Noah’s claim to shoot him. And his gun had wolfsbane bullets in it, courtesy of Chris Argent. Instead, Derek shadowed him as closely as he could, though he was wary of getting too close to the prone alpha. It was likely his presence would set Stiles off. He’d gone after each of the other alphas without hesitation, after all. Still, Derek was ready to rush in if he had to, to protect Noah. It was the least he could do, considering his family was the reason - however tangentially - that Stiles was involved in the supernatural in the first place.

 

Noah was a few feet away when Stiles’ massive head lifted off his front paws, glowing red eyes locking on the human approaching him. He let out a low, rumbling sort of sound. Derek tensed, and Stiles’ head turned towards him, the sound getting louder for a moment. Noah took another step forward and Stiles was instantly looking at him again, nostrils flaring even as he rose up into a low crouch. Noah held out one hand, the way you did when approaching a strange dog, and Derek wanted to sigh and roll his eyes, because _seriously?_ What the fuck was wrong with people? Werewolves weren’t _dogs._

 

But Stiles paused, tipping his head to the side even as he visibly sniffed, slowly edging closer to Noah. The warning growl he’d been making tapered off, and Stiles settled back onto the floor, looking like some weird mutant dog. It was disconcerting for _Derek,_ so he couldn't imagine how Noah felt, but the sheriff boldly moved closer. It seemed he was taking Stiles’ lack of aggression as permission to approach. Derek wasn’t certain that was wise, but he wasn’t going to argue. And honestly, he wasn’t sure why Stiles had laid back down. Didn’t know if it was because he didn’t view the _human_ as a threat, or if it was because he could smell that Noah was related to him, or if he considered his father _pack_ on an instinctual level. This was new territory for Derek, as well.

 

By the time Noah reached Stiles’ side, Derek felt ready to jump out of his skin. Everyone else in the room seemed to be in varying states of tension as well. Except, of course, for Stiles. The creature - all dark brown fur and burning eyes - was curled up on the floor again, as placid as a golden retriever. Noah reached down and placed one hand on that massive head, just between the pointed ears.

 

“Hey, kiddo...” Noah’s voice shook a little, but Derek wasn’t sure if it was from fear _of_ Stiles or concern _for_ him because the air was filled with the scent of blood and death and too many emotions from too many people for him to sort out someone whose scent he wasn’t familiar with.

 

He figured either would be equally understandable.

 

“So, Derek told me what you’ve been up to.” Noah huffed out a breath, and the sound was pure parental annoyance. “I wish _you_ had told me, but...I guess I can understand that you were trying to protect your friends, and me, and...well, everyone. But no more secrets, okay? I can’t be there for you if you don’t let me in.”

 

Stiles let out a soft, rough sound that Derek was hesitant to call a bark, but... _well._ He nudged his head up against Noah’s hand and Derek wondered how cognizant Stiles was; wondered how much of the wolf had taken over and how much of him was still _him._ He didn’t seem capable of shifting back - Derek had no doubt they’d be staring at a very apologetic sixteen year old, if that was the case - but he didn’t seem _dangerous._

 

Knowing there was nothing for it but to test that theory, and trusting Stiles not to hurt _Noah,_ Derek slowly moved closer while the Sheriff kept talking. He was telling Stiles how impressed he was with the way he’d dealt with his captors; was berating him for endangering himself by taking Deucalion on one-on-one; was mostly talking to fill the void of silence left behind by the fact that Stiles could no longer speak. Stiles seemed to be listening - ears pricked towards the sheriff’s voice, head tipped attentatively in his direction - but his eyes were on Derek. He was visibly scenting Derek, and Derek had to wonder whether Stiles would decide he was a threat or not.

 

In the end, Stiles simply watched Derek’s approach in silence. He came to a stop just behind the sheriff, who spoke softly. “It’s a good sign, right? That he’s letting us so close to him.”

 

“I don’t know about _good.”_ Derek admitted, because there was intelligence behind those red eyes but not necessarily _awareness,_ and he didn’t know what that meant or what to do about it. “But it’s not _bad_ and, at this point, I think we should take what we can get and be grateful for it.”

 

“Fair enough.” Noah agreed, one hand still stroking the top of Stiles’ head. “So, I can’t exactly take him home like this. Any idea how we get him to change back?”

 

“That’s up to him.” Derek wished he had a better answer, but he didn’t. “He’s going to have to find his anchor, and use it to hold back the animal part of himself. No one can do it for him, or even tell him _how._ It’s something he’s going to have to figure out on his own.”

 

Stiles looked back and forth between Derek and his father, then suddenly the burning red faded from his eyes, leaving behind the rich tawny color they were familiar with. For several long heartbeats, Derek waited with baited breath to see if Stiles would finish shifting back. When nothing happened, he sighed. “I don’t think it’s going to happen right now. It might take a while, actually.”

 

“That’s very true, nephew.” Peter’s voice was the same casual pleasantness it had been since his resurrection. “I’ve heard of experienced alphas - even ones who were born wolves - getting stuck in their alpha form the first time they manage to take it. Especially if it was taken accidentally, or in the heat of a fight.”

 

Peter was still about fifteen feet away, approaching slowly with curiosity sketched into the lines of his face, when Stiles pushed up onto all fours and started snarling. He lunged towards Peter, jaw snapping, though he was careful not to put his teeth anywhere near Noah. Derek immediately darted between Stiles and Peter, arms out in front of him, palms towards Stiles in a placating gesture.

 

“Peter, back away.” Derek didn’t bother looking to see if he was obeyed, trusting his uncle’s self-preservation instincts to make him listen. He kept his eyes on Stiles instead, though he didn’t make direct eye contact; he didn’t want to risk anything Stiles might take as a challenge.

 

When Stiles stopped growling, Derek exhaled on a sound of relief and relaxed his stance. “That’s it, Stiles. No need to get aggressive.” Derek praised, voice soft and soothing as he slowly and carefully moved back to Noah’s side. The alpha watched him carefully, but didn’t growl or attack. “Is it just that you don’t like Peter? Because I can definitely understand that, but that doesn’t mean you can just attack.”

 

Stiles simply stared at him, and Derek sighed, shooting Noah a helpless look. “I honestly don’t know how much he understands, sir. I don’t...I don’t _know_ and I don’t think he’ll be telling us anything anytime soon and I don’t really know the protocol for this.”

 

“Derek, if he can’t be contained...”

 

“Be careful what you suggest in regards to my son, Argent.” Noah cut the (former, or so he claimed, but he’d jumped at helping them go after the alphas who had Stiles, so the sheriff wasn’t banking on it) hunter off, because he wasn’t having any of that kind of talk. “Stiles is just a kid.”

 

“Stiles is an alpha werewolf, who’s killed three people and has the potential to kill _or turn_ any number of others, very quickly.” Because the Argents never did know when to quit, Derek had learned; not even for their own good. “I understand he’s your son, Sheriff, but you need to face facts. The thing in front of you is a monster.”

 

“Stiles killed in self-defense and you _know_ it.” Noah retorted, glaring hotly. “And I’m standing right next to him, unharmed. He’s not a mindless killer, or a monster. You don’t get to just decide to cage him up, or put him down like some sort of animal. Not when he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

 

Derek curled his fingers over Noah’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Argent isn’t going to hurt Stiles.” He added a flash of red eyes in the man’s direction and, though Chris’ mouth tightened, he inclined his head in agreement. “We’re going to have to contain him somehow, though. Until we’re sure of how aware he is - how much of _Stiles_ is awake in there under the wolf - we have to be careful. We don’t want him to hurt anyone.”

 

Noah turned back to Stiles, reaching out and stroking his son’s neck. He loosely fisted his hand in the thick fur of Stiles’ ruff, nodding slightly. “Okay. What do you suggest?”

 

“My place, assuming he can handle being around the other wolves.At least the ones who aren’t Peter.” Derek said immediately. “It’ll let me keep a close eye on him, first off. Second off, the loft is big enough and open enough - tall ceilings, minimal walls - for him to be able to stand up and move around, without hurting himself or damaging the property. The door is reinforced steel, and the building has an alarm system, and my apartment is the only one currently occupied. It’s in a mostly industrial area, meaning not a lot of people nearby, so even if he gets out, we should be able to catch him before anyone sees him, and certainly before he can hurt anyone.”

 

The sheriff nodded again, and Derek gestured for Isaac to come closer. The baby-faced teen approached slowly, but he didn’t get far before Stiles was growling, hackles rising swiftly. Isaac stopped in his tracks, looking towards Derek questioningly. “Uh, what do I do?”

 

Derek frowned, then said. “Back away.” After Isaac obeyed and Stiles stopped growling, Derek spoke again. “Cora, you try. Stiles and Isaac don’t exactly get along, but he did his best to protect  _ you.  _ I want to see how he responds to you, instead.”

 

“Okay...”

 

Cora came up slowly, eyes cast down and a little to the side. Her head wasn’t _fully_ tipped, but the long line of her throat was definitely being displayed by her posture. She had one hand out in front of her, palm up, utterly non-threatening; her other hand was relaxed at her side. She made it as far as Derek’s side - a good five feet between her and Stiles - before the growling started. Derek watched Stiles bare his teeth, then growled back in a low, brief rumble. Stiles turned to look at him, and Derek flashed his eyes red for a few seconds, then slowly lifted one hand and cupped the back of Cora’s neck, palm pressing flat and rubbing the skin there briefly.

 

She immediately let her head drop to the side, baring her throat to him in submission. It was something ingrained in them from birth; to submit readily when the alpha of the family scent-marked you the way Derek had just done to her. Stiles stopped growling, mouth relaxing from its snarl, though he was once again watching Cora. After a few seconds, Derek dropped his hand and nudged Cora closer to Stiles. She took two steps, and Stiles growled again, the sound clearly a warning.

 

After a few seconds, Cora backed up again, putting herself just slightly behind Derek. Stiles fell quiet, and Noah slumped against his side. His son took the weight easily, not even shifting under it. “So, if he can’t be around the rest of your pack...”

 

“I don’t know.” Derek admitted, feeling helpless and frustrated and angry all at once. His eyes flashed, and Stiles flashed his in response, though he didn’t show any signs of aggression. “Look, I want to say he can stay with me while we sort this out, but Isaac stays at the loft and I assume Cora needs a place to stay, too. I don’t...I don’t know what to do here, sir.”

 

“Isaac can stay with me.” Scott offered. He’d moved a little closer, carefully watching everything that happened; taking it all in. It was clear he was worried, but he wasn’t stupid enough to approach Stiles just yet. Though, actually, it might be good to see how Stiles responded to his childhood friend. Just...maybe not quite yet. “Mom won’t mind, if we explain the situation, and we’ve got an extra room. There’s just...not a bed. There’s an air mattress, though, so...”

 

“I’ll pay for a bed, if your mom will let him crash there.” Derek agreed, grateful. “And of course I’ll give her money towards groceries. Our metabolisms being what they are, the two of you will eat her into bankruptcy.” He shook his head and added. “That doesn’t help with Cora, though.”

 

The teenage girl laughed, though the sound was edgy and harsh, nudging Derek between the shoulderblades. “I’ve lived on my own own for six years, Derek. I can handle myself. Worse comes to worse, I’ll just crash at the house. I heard the alphas talking and I know _you_ did it when you first got back, so I’m guessing there’s at least a mattress there still, right?”

 

Derek turned to bare his fangs at her. “I am _not_ letting you sleep there. Laura and Mom would beat my ass for even _thinking_ of letting that happen. Absolutely not.” He glanced across the bank, then suggested hesitantly. “I supposed you could stay with Peter...”

 

“No.” Noah wasn’t real clear on all of the details just yet, but he knew Peter wasn’t trusted and that the man had been responsible for a number of deaths in the last six months. The hell if he was letting a teenage girl - Derek’s kid sister, who’d been presumed dead for six years, if he was understanding the situation correctly - sleep under the same roof as a murderer, whether he was her uncle or not. “She can stay with me. The house will feel too empty without a teenager there, and we have a guest room so she doesn’t have to stay in Stiles’ room or anything.”

 

“Might be better if I do.” Cora said softly, looking considering. “If I smelled like him, he might be less-inclined to attack me.”

 

“Fine.” Derek agreed, mostly because there was nothing else he _could_ do, considering. “Alright, look. Everyone could use some food, and some sleep, and probably a long shower and a change of clothes. So why don’t we pack it in for the night, and tomorrow we can regroup at my place. If Stiles won’t let anyone into the loft, we’ll just talk in one of the lower levels so we can make sure he doesn’t get out while we’re meeting. Sound good?”

 

As the others started talking amongst themselves, sorting out who would be driving who home and no doubt working out what Boyd and Erica would tell their families after having been missing for several weeks, Derek turned to Stiles. “Come on then, Stiles. Say goodbye to your dad so we can go.”

 

Stiles turned and butted his head against Noah’s chest, nearly knocking the older man on his ass. Noah huffed out a laugh, then hugged his son around the neck with a sigh. “Behave yourself, please. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re going to get through this, son. Together.”

 

Stiles made a sound - and again, Derek wasn’t calling a _bark_ because Stiles wasn’t a dog, but he wasn’t calling it anything else, either - before turning to stare at Derek. “Come get me if you need me.” Derek told Cora, knowing she’d be able to find him - and the loft - by scent, if necessary. He hugged her, briefly but tightly.

 

“Go on, then.” Cora said, a little gruffly, as she pushed Derek towards the bank’s exit even as she stepped closer to the Sheriff. “Go take care of Stiles. He saved me, so...it’s the least you can do, really.”

 

Derek had to agree.

 

When he walked out of the bank, Stiles was right on his heels, silent and hulking. Derek prayed they could sort this whole mess out quickly. Strange as it was, he found himself missing Stiles’ smartass comments and babble. Shaking his head, Derek took off for the loft at a run, trusting the shifted alpha to keep up with him.

 

Stiles did just that.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

 

Derek wound up feeding Stiles a barely-cooked burger made with an entire pound of ground beef with no bun, or toppings, or condiments of any sort. He had a feeling the new wolf would’ve eaten the meat raw, but Derek’s family had never eaten uncooked meat unless it was something they’d hunted; usually during the full moon. So he’d at least made sure the burger was heated all the way through and did his best not to gag at the very _idea_ of the texture of Stiles’ meal. Because the shifted teen happily chowed down on the _very_ pink burger, before drinking all of the water Derek had poured into the largest mixing bowl he had.

 

Part of Derek felt guilty, because Stiles wasn’t a dog and he didn’t want to treat the teenager like he was animal just because he was shifted. But, it wasn’t like Stiles could drink from a water bottle with his new jaw shape, so...there weren’t exactly a lot of alternatives. Derek squashed what he could of the guilt by reminding himself that Stiles had a fantastic sense of humor and would likely find the whole thing vastly amusing when he finally shifted back. It wasn’t much, as far as consolation went, but it was all Derek had.

 

When Stiles curled up on Derek’s bed, the alpha debated flashing his eyes and growling, to show Stiles that he was in _Derek’s_ territory and would need to sleep on the couch, or the floor, or one of the _other_ beds in the loft. But Stiles was looking up at him with wide amber eyes, like some sort of alien cocker spaniel, seeming utterly relaxed surrounded by Derek’s scent. So the alpha grumbled, but shrugged his shoulders and headed for the stairs. No one slept in the bedroom at the top of the spiral staircase, since Derek slept in the main room of the loft and Isaac slept in the smaller bedroom on the lower level. Derek imagined he’d be offering the upper room to Cora soon enough, but for the moment, it was as good a place as any for him to sleep. Stiles watched him go, and Derek called out a soft reminder for Stiles to _behave_ and _get some sleep_ before he disappeared from view.

 

There was no answer, but Stiles did in fact close his eyes and drift off to sleep, not long after. For Derek, sleep was more elusive. But then, that was nothing new.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It didn't take long for Derek and Stiles to settle into a routine. By the third day, it was well-established that when Derek ate, he made enough for both of them. Stiles' shifted body was capable of both sitting and standing like a human, but he seemed disinclined to do so. He preferred walking on all fours, as well as sitting and laying down in distinctly canine poses. Derek gave up trying to change that after the first day, and simply placed all of Stiles' food and water on plates or in bowls on the floor for him to consume as he pleased. Because Derek ran the territory boundaries at least three times a day - sometimes more, if he was feeling restless and wanted to get out - and because the boundary lines were mostly in the Preserve, which surrounded nearly all of Beacon Hills, Stiles had taken to running with him. Which neatly solved the issue of Stiles using the bathroom, which hadn't occurred to Derek to be something he'd have to worry about with a fully toilet-trained teenager until Stiles had been whining and growling and clawing at the loft's door that first morning and Derek had realized the shifted alpha was unlikely to be able to use a toilet. His massive shifted size alone - on his hind legs, he towered over Derek and outweighed him by at least half - made it impossible for him to even fit in the loft's small downstairs bathroom.

 

He probably could have fit into the upstairs one, but Derek didn't think the spiral staircase would support Stiles' new weight, so it wasn't really worth attempting.

 

The Sheriff came over every day and stayed for an hour or two, to see Stiles and talk to him and try to coax him into attempting to shift back. Stiles, for his part, nuzzled close and scent-marked his dad and seemed to be listening attentively. But he also didn't shift back, so it was hard to say how well he was _actually_ listening. Cora had taken to sleeping in Stiles' room at the Sheriff's house, and Derek scent-marked her every time she came over, so Stiles had stopped growling and snapping at her. He still wouldn't let her close enough to touch him, but Derek considered it progress that he just moved away if she got too close rather than becoming aggressive. Stiles refused to allow any of the other wolves within fifteen feet of them, immediately showing aggression if any of them tried. Peter couldn't even enter the loft without setting Stiles off.

 

Derek...wasn't exactly complaining about that.

 

Erica seemed distressed that Stiles was reacting so negatively to her, though Derek had done his best to explain that it was likely just the combination of his new werewolf senses and his alpha instincts that were making it so hard for him to be around other wolves. Derek wasn't sure why _he_ was the exception to that, but wondered if, before he'd stolen that first alpha spark for himself, Stiles had decided to accept _Derek_ as his alpha. If he had, that carry-over decision might explain why he was so comfortable in Derek's den. _And_ why he'd accepted Derek's sister more than any of the others.

 

But even as upset as Erica was, she wasn't the worst.

 

No, that was  _ Scott. _

 

Scott, who completely broke down when Stiles snapped and snarled at him, flashing red eyes and raising his hackles. It wasn't something Scott had prepared for - insisting that Stiles was his brother and would accept him the way he'd accepted Noah - and he hadn't handled it well. Privately, Derek thought he understood. Allison always smelled like a hunter - a side-effect of coming from a family of them, and from training on her own - and _Scott_ always smelled of _Allison._ Like something floral and stinging; wolfsbane, because she was being taught all the hunter tricks. And like gunpowder; mostly from Chris. And like weaponry; her bow and arrows - all wood and steel strings and the strange almond-scent that came from the explosive arrowheads she carried. Her scent screamed _threat_ and Scott carried it with him everywhere. Derek didn’t think it helped that Scott had been blowing Stiles off and leaving him to save himself, in favor of chasing his own tail where Allison was concerned, for as long as Derek had known them.

 

Derek imagined Stiles was probably a little bitter - understandably so - and even if the human part of him could tamp that down because of how long he and Scott had been best friends, the wolf in him wouldn’t be so easy to quiet. If Scott submitted and accepted Stiles as his alpha, that would probably work, but Scott hadn’t done that. In large part, because Derek hadn’t suggested it, but that was beside the point.

 

Running companionably through the woods with Stiles, Derek wondered if they might be able to manage being one pack. The new alpha didn’t seem to view Derek as a threat, was comfortable in Derek’s den...

 

Alpha-pairs were the best way to lead a pack, though the Hales hadn’t had an alpha-pair leading them in several generations. Of course, that was because - traditionally speaking - alpha-pairs were mated wolves, and the Hales had a propensity for mating with humans. It seemed to strengthen the werewolf genes, since Laura and Talia were _not_ the first generations of Hale Alphas capable of the full-shift, though some of the other - older - packs had made noise each time a Hale chose a human mate. Derek had never given it much thought, because he’d never expected to _be_ an alpha, so the tradition of who ran a pack hadn’t mattered much to him. Derek had known he would be a simple beta until the day Laura took over for their mother, at which point he would be Laura’s second; who she married - who ruled with her - hadn’t been a consideration for him.

 

As for who would rule by _his_ side...

 

Well, after Kate, Derek had given up on the idea of choosing a mate. He just didn’t have it in him to trust someone enough to consider laying down beside them to sleep at night. He’d trusted Kate - _loved_ her, even -  and she’d repaid that by turning his family to ash. He couldn’t imagine letting someone else in, especially not now when he had a new pack to consider; to protect. Adding the newly-returned Cora to the mix just made it even less likely. He had gotten back someone from the fire; from Kate. The hell if he’d risk losing her again.

 

But  _ Stiles... _

 

Stiles was pack, or he had been, at least as far as Derek had been concerned. God knows they’d saved each other’s asses enough times to be considered that. Ruling with a _non-alpha_ who wasn’t your mate just wasn’t done, but another alpha was a different story. True, it wasn’t exactly _normal,_ but it wasn’t actively frowned upon, either. So if Derek could get Stiles to agree, it was possible. His betas already loved Stiles. Well, tolerated in Isaac’s case, but still. Even _Peter_ had admitted to a certain level of fondness for the teen. It also might bring Scott into the fold, at long last, because he was far more likely to join Stiles than Derek.

 

That, however, was a discussion for another day. A day when Stiles had the ability to talk about it.

 

But running through the trees while the half-moon shone down on them both, Derek had a feeling Stiles would agree. They already _felt_ like pack.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Two weeks after Stiles became an alpha, Derek woke up to the sound of snarling. He was down the small, spiral staircase in a matter of seconds, heart racing at the thought that Stiles might have hurt one of his betas. He froze at the bottom of the stairs, staring in shock. Stiles had shredded the couch Derek had only _just_ bought. It was _literally_ only a few weeks old, and now it was gone. The soft, chocolate brown fabric lay in strips and scraps all around the loft. The cushions' interior foam was ripped apart and scattered as well. The frame was in pieces, deep gouging claw marks in the larger pieces of wood and the rest little more than splinters. Stiles had a throw pillow in his mouth and was tearing it apart with teeth and claws, snarling, eyes glowing red.

 

Derek made a noise - something caught between shock and horror at the unnecessary furniture carnage he was witnessing - and Stiles' head came up like a shot. His ears pricked forward as he noticed Derek, then flicked back almost immediately. Stiles dropped the pillow, then lowered the front of his body almost to the floor, back legs in a crouch. His tail arched up, lips pulled back to bare his teeth, a loud snarl filling the loft. For a split second, Derek debated bolting back up the stairs. But if Stiles tried to follow him, he'd likely rip them down and hurt himself in the process.

 

True, Stiles would heal quickly, but Derek's stairs  _ wouldn't. _

 

Instead, Derek shifted into beta-form and launched himself towards the middle of the main room in the loft, where Stiles was. Stiles lunged as well and Derek quickly found himself pinned under the huge, tawny monstrosity. Fangs were near his throat a second later, Stiles' breath hot and damp on Derek's skin. He growled, and Derek let out a soft whine in reply, because that was the expected response; the only one he could give. Stiles' teeth were gone in an instant, replaced by the top of Stiles' muzzle, nudging under Derek's chin.

 

Obligingly, Derek tipped his head back, huffing out a laugh as Stiles nuzzled into his throat, scenting him. "Good morning to you, too." Derek finally said, using both hands - claw-tipped as they were - to card through the soft fur between Stiles' ears.

 

Stiles pushed up into the touch, eyes closing and massive tongue lolling out from between his teeth in a pleased sort of way. Derek laughed again, then pushed gently at Stiles' head. The alpha shifted off of him, rolling onto his back on the floor and yipping at Derek, before rolling back to his initial position - half-crouched with his upper body low. This time, Derek shook his head even as he shifted to sitting, giving the teen an exasperated look.

 

"No, Stiles. I'm not in the mood to play right now."

 

Derek grunted when Stiles pinned him back to the floor, snarling playfully again. Derek responded with a snarl of his own, though it was of the less-playful variety. Stiles backed down immediately, ears low; he clearly didn't want to fight Derek. "I said no." He snapped, glaring around at the loft. "You see the mess you made? What the hell were you thinking? I  _ know  _ you know better than this, because you know not to piss in the loft so you  _ definitely  _ know you shouldn't be ripping apart my couch!"

 

Stiles whined, red eyes fading to shimmering gold; the alpha looked apologetic. "No, don't go giving me sad puppy looks, dammit." Derek scowled, getting to his feet and shaking a finger at Stiles. "If it didn't work when you were human and a hell of a lot cuter than you are right now, what makes you think it'll work on me now?"

 

He watched as Stiles dropped his head, tail low between his legs, and slunk off to the far corner of the room. Derek scrubbed his hands over his face, cursing softly as he heard the Sheriff's cruiser pulling into the parking lot. He  _ really  _ wasn’t up for company. "Dammit..." He grumbled; he hadn't even had breakfast yet. Hell, he hadn't had his morning  _ piss  _ yet. "Stiles, your father and Cora are here. Behave yourself, for the love of everything,  _ please." _

 

Stiles whined again and Derek rolled his eyes, stomping off to the bathroom. He'd make coffee and something to eat after he'd peed.  _ Then  _ he'd worry about the mess on his living room floor. And at some point, he'd worry about Stiles' destructive, semi-aggressive new behavior. But... _ later. _

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was Noah who actually figured out what was up with Stiles, however unintentionally. "What are you going to do on the full moon?"

 

Cora's head came up, eyes wide and surprised. She and Derek knew it was getting close, of course; could feel the pull of it like a tide in their blood. But for them, control was like breathing; they'd been taught it from birth, after all. The full moon wasn't the same for them. It held sway, but in a different way. Derek always felt energized; awake; _playful._ Wanted to run; wanted to spar; wanted to hunt. It was a time for family - for _pack_ \- to gather and bond. Bitten wolves could reach that point, eventually, but their first few moons...

 

Derek exchanged a look with his sister, both of them halting as they cleaned up the demolished couch, before the alpha let his eyes move to Stiles. "That's what's got you so riled up, isn't it? You can feel the moon."

 

Stiles cocked his head to one side, but his whole body was trembling; it was clear he wanted to run; to jump; to move.

 

"Der, he's going to need to do something with that energy." Cora tipped her head at the garbage can full of scraps and the rest of the wreckage still around them. "If this is what he does three days out, what's he going to do the night of? He could rip you apart if we're not careful."

 

"He won't hurt me." Derek  _ wanted  _ to sound confident - wanted to be sure of that - but uncertainty crept into his voice.

 

The younger alpha whined sadly, moving away from Noah and over to Derek’s side. He butted his head against the middle of Derek's chest, whining again, and Cora whispered. "I think he's agreeing with you, Der. I think he understands at least _some_ of what we're saying and he wants you to know that...that you're right. That he _doesn't_ want to hurt you."

 

Stiles shuddered all over, then turned his head and shifted closer to Cora. She lifted her hands up above her head, uncertain and wary but not truly afraid. Stiles didn't seemed fazed by that; just butted his head against her hip and made a soft barking sort of sound. Cora laughed in amazement, then - _very slowly_ \- brought one hand down to rest on Stiles' huge head. He pushed up into the touch for a moment, let out a whuffing breath, then backed quickly away. He shuddered again, as though trying to shake off Cora's touch - or perhaps her scent - before making his way back to where Noah was still sitting on the edge of the bed, under the large bank of windows.

 

"Well." Cora put her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side as she studied Stiles for another minute. Then she shot Derek an amazed look, one eyebrow raised. "I think that answers  _ that  _ question, doesn't it?"

 

"What question?" Derek asked, because there were a few different answers staring them in the face at the moment. Like, how much Stiles understood. Like, the fact that he'd clearly chosen Derek as his alpha. Like, the fact that he was trapped in that form - and the wolf was clearly running the show - but he was still  _ Stiles. _

 

"What we need to do with him on the full moon." Cora shot him an exasperated look. "Honestly, Derek, pay attention. Clearly, he's getting energized. He's going to need to run. The Preserve is the best place for him. And you'll need to be with him, to make sure he doesn't go crazy and attack anyone. I'd suggest we all go, like Mom did with us when we were little and learning control, but Stiles responds so poorly to your other betas that I don't think it's a good idea."

 

Noah looked over at them. "Why is he responding to them so badly, anyway? I didn't think Stiles was that opposed to any of them normally."

 

Derek shrugged. "He's not. I mean, maybe Peter. But not the others; not usually." He sighed and did his best to explain. "It's because he's an alpha and they belong to another alpha; to me."

 

"Okay, but Cora's your beta  _ and  _ your sister." Noah pointed out. "So shouldn't he be responding to her the same way? Or to you, even. And Scott isn't yours, right?"

 

Derek wasn't sure how to help the Sheriff understand, so he was grateful when Cora took over talking. "I think Stiles had already rejected the alpha who bit him in favor of Derek, before he became an alpha himself. So he doesn't view Derek as a threat, because he'd already chosen to submit to him. They might both be alphas, but Stiles considers Derek  _ his  _ alpha."

 

Stiles made the same barking sound he'd made when he'd nudged Cora's hip before, and Cora inclined her head in acknowledgement. "See? He's agreeing. Derek  _ is  _ his alpha. And  _ I'm  _ Derek's blood; his family, in addition to being pack. Stiles doesn't like me touching him because I'm Derek's beta and not his, but he won't attack me or show aggression out of deference to Derek."

 

"So is there anyway to make it easier for the betas to be around Stiles?" Noah seemed genuinely curious, and Derek wondered if that was where Stiles' own insatiable thirst for knowledge came from. "I mean, there has to be something we can do, right?"

 

"Maybe..." Cora sounded thoughtful; considering. "If the betas showed Stiles deference - if they conceded to him as Derek's second, acknowledging that Stiles outstrips them in the pack hierarchy - then that might settle the wolf in him. But it won't work with Scott, because Scott isn't Derek's beta and if he submits to Stiles then it'll be like Stiles is forming his own pack, rather than taking his proper place in  _ our  _ pack. Which might make him view Derek as a threat, so we definitely  _ don't  _ want that to happen."

 

Noah looked at Derek. "Do you think it'd work?"

 

Derek  _ really  _ didn't want to do this now, when Stiles couldn't contribute, but he knew Noah wasn’t going to let it go without an answer. "Honestly, yes, I do. But we can't try it until Stiles is human again and can talk about it. Because if we do that - have my betas submit to Stiles as well as to me - it will mean we're ruling the pack as an alpha-pair and that's not something to do lightly. Which is why I hadn't suggested it myself."

 

Cora held her hands up placatingly. "Hey, I was just talking. I still say you need to take him out to the Preserve for the full moon. He's going to want to hunt, and it's better if he's got deer or whatever else as an option instead of just you."

 

Derek didn't bother dignifying that with a response.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Derek bit down hard, the coppery tang of blood exploding across his tastebuds. He jerked his head to the side, teeth ripping through soft flesh and thick, sinewy muscle with ease; separating it from the bone. His claws sunk in, parting fur and skin from meat and shucking it to the side. From less than a foot away, Derek could hear the slick, wet sounds of Stiles’ teeth and claws helping him clean and dismember their kill. _Stiles’_ kill, really. Derek had helped separate the deer - a huge buck - from the rest of its herd, but Stiles had been the one to take it down; to rip out its throat. Derek had stood back, a few yards away, until Stiles had finished the thing off. It hadn’t taken the new alpha more than a couple of minutes, but Derek had left him to it. Your first hunt was special; your first full-moon hunt even moreso. Derek hadn’t had any intention of interfering.

 

When the deer’s heart had stopped, Stiles had closed his teeth around one of its antlers and dragged it over to Derek. He’d dropped it at Derek’s feet, then sat back, tongue lolling out from between bloody teeth and looking hopeful. Derek hadn’t known what to do - had never seen anyone present his mother with a kill during the hunts he’d been on - but he hadn’t been able to disappoint Stiles. Wolfish-monstrosity that he was, he still managed to look like an eager puppy at times, and Derek hated when he looked sad or disappointed. So Derek had lowered his head and sunk both teeth and claws into the creature, starting to strip away fur and separate meat from bone. It was only a few seconds later that Stiles had joined him, and Derek hadn’t objected because it _was_ Stiles’ kill. It felt a little strange, sharing it this way, but Derek could also feel a pack-bond starting to form between himself and the other alpha so he put it down to that.

 

He prodded a little at the connection, which felt different than his with the betas. He imagined it was because Stiles was an alpha as well. Stiles obviously felt him nudging at it, because he growled softly and a wave of something flashed along it. Derek couldn't get a good read on it - the connection was still new; still weak - but whatever it was, it was wild around the edges. Derek imagined it was more the wolf than Stiles, though he wasn’t sure if that was because of the full moon or simply because the wolf had taken over. He’d have to check the bond again in a few days; see how Stiles responded when the moon was holding less sway.

 

As it was, Derek let the moon take hold - gave the wolf in him a little more leeway - and took a few minutes to enjoy the taste of fresh blood and raw meat. He didn’t hunt much anymore. Hadn’t done since Laura’s death, as he’d always hated hunting alone. It was a pleasure he hadn’t taken the time for since building a new pack; one he’d certainly never shared with his betas, new as they were. He decided, once they got this whole mess with Stiles sorted out, that on the next full moon he’d take the whole pack out hunting. They were cooped up with Cora and Peter at the loft for this moon, not shackled or anything but not allowed out because of Stiles. Together, they were stronger; better-controlled. More than enough for a full moon run and hunt. They’d been making an effort to be a _real_ pack, since everything with the alpha-pack had gone down.

 

Even Scott and Jackson were at the loft for the night, though neither of them were _technically_ in Derek’s pack. At least, not _yet._

 

When he’d eaten his fill, Derek sat back and watched Stiles. The alpha only took a few more bites before he, too, seemed full. Stiles was a far messier eater than Derek, whose beta-shift left him with a mostly human jaw-shape, especially compared to Stiles’ fully canine muzzle. Even still, Derek could feel the warm blood growing cool and tacky on his chin and cheeks, and where it had run down his jaw and neck. His hands and arms were sticky with it as well. Stiles’ fur was dark and matted with it, his sharp teeth coated in a way that made him look far more dangerous than normal. Shaking his head, Derek decided they ought to wash up before doing anything else and took off at a run for the river.

 

When he skidded to a stop beside the water, Stiles was only seconds behind him. Derek knelt down and briskly washed the blood from his arms, and face, and throat...then stripped off his t-shirt and made sure his chest was clean, too. He tossed the bloody fabric to one side, deciding it wasn’t worth trying to save, then watched with an indulgent smile as Stiles simply waded into the river. It wasn’t overly deep, and Stiles was tall and strong and fast so the current was no match for him. When he climbed back out a few minutes later, he was clean but _very_ wet. He shook out his fur quickly, then stared at Derek with glowing red eyes, clearly waiting to see what they were going to do next.

 

The deference was almost shocking, considering it was Stiles, but Derek was slowly getting used to it.

 

“Let’s run.” Derek rumbled, because the wolf under his skin was itching for it. And, after all, that’s what full moons were _for._ With a toothy grin, Derek teased. “Catch me if you can, Stiles!” Then, he took off into the trees.

 

He could hear Stiles running behind him; padded paws on dirt and leaves, and Stiles’ panting breaths, and the wild thundering of Stiles’ heart. It sent Derek’s own heart racing, and pushed his legs to carry him faster. There was something thrilling in the chase; something Derek hadn’t felt before. True, he’d always delighted in full moon runs, and racing through the trees while his siblings and cousins ran along with him - sometimes the one chasing, other times the one being chased - but this was different. There was a tension to it that didn’t speak of danger; that was almost more of a breathless anticipation. Something that told Derek he _wanted_ to get caught, though he couldn't imagine why.

 

Shaking the oddity of the moment off, Derek just focused on the chase.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The sun was just starting its ascent into the sky when Stiles finally managed to tackle Derek to the ground. He growled and snapped playfully at the other alpha while trying to buck his larger form off of him. Stiles rumbled out a growl in response, pinning Derek down fairly easily. Derek stared up at him, panting and tired in the best possible way, all of his muscles aching pleasantly after a night of exertion. He knew the exhaustion wouldn’t last long; that the fatigue in his muscles would slip away in an hour or two. It was nice while it lasted, though; a tangible reminder of how he’d spent the full moon.

 

Stiles’ huge head dipped down, then his rough tongue was dragging over Derek’s skin. He caught the top of Derek’s chest, then dragged up the side of Derek’s neck, and finally licked over one of Derek’s cheeks, all the way up to his temple. Derek blinked, then responded without thought. He strained up a little, then licked the top of Stiles’ muzzle, which was the easiest spot for him to reach given the teen’s current position. Stiles whuffed out a breath, then licked along Derek’s jaw. And again, without pausing to consider why, Derek licked the other alpha. This time, he licked the front of Stiles’ throat, then up under Stiles’ jaw, at the bottom of his muzzle.

 

Stiles whined, then nuzzled at Derek’s throat before moving back off the other alpha. Derek pushed himself up to sitting, watching in interest as Stiles tipped his head to one side and bared his throat to Derek.

 

“I don’t know what you want from me.” Derek admitted, because he’d never paid enough attention to Talia’s duties as alpha and Laura had only had him as a beta so it wasn’t the same dynamic.

 

Stiles growled softly, then whined a little. Derek’s wolf strained forward, but Derek hesitated to give in to it; to let it take control. “I don’t...Stiles, I can’t understand you. If you just...if you could  _ talk,  _ I...”

 

Stiles barked, sounded annoyed.

 

“Yeah, okay, I get it. You _are_ talking but...” Derek leaned a little closer, shifting positions so he was on his knees rather than sitting on his ass in a bed of pine needles and forest detritus. “I _can’t,_ Stiles. If I give in to the the pull of the moon...if I let go of the human parts of me so I can figure out what you want...”

 

This time Stiles whined, head cocking to the side as though asking a question.

 

Derek huffed, then admitted shakily. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back from it. I never had the best control, you know. Mom almost had to pull me out of high school because of it; because I couldn't keep the wolf leashed well enough. It never came as easily to me as it did to my siblings.”

 

When Stiles pushed himself into Derek’s chest, he wrapped his arms around the teen’s neck and buried his face in all that soft, tawny fur. “I wish I could help you.” He whispered, throat tight with frustration he refused to let form into tears. “But god, Stiles, I can’t tell you how to do something I can’t do myself. There’s a reason I’ve never tried for an alpha form. I can barely shake off a beta-shift some days.”

 

Stiles didn’t say anything, but he didn’t shake off Derek’s touch either. For the moment - for _Derek_ \- it was enough of an answer, anyway.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“I don’t see why you think _I_ can help.” Jackson snarked, even as he followed Lydia and Derek into the loft. “It’s not like Stilinski and I get along.”

 

“Because you’ve got the most experience with shaking off a full-body transformation.” Lydia said, rolling her eyes and sounding bored. “You were trapped in that other form and managed to come back from it. That makes you uniquely qualified to advise Stiles.”

 

Jackson snorted. “It’s not exactly the same thing. I barely remember being the kanima.” When Lydia frowned at him, Jackson shrugged. “Hey, I’ll give it a shot, I’m just saying. I don’t know how much good it’ll do and I don’t want everyone getting pissy if I _can’t_ help.”

 

“I’m not going to blame you if you can’t help him.” Derek said quietly. “I haven’t been able to help him, either. All I can ask is that you try.”

 

Stiles was watching them, looking wary but not openly aggressive. “Hey, Stiles. C’mere.” Derek held out his hand, and Stiles padded over, butting his head against Derek’s chest in a way that had become increasingly familiar as the days passed.

 

“Hello, Stiles.” Lydia’s voice was sweet; pleasant and charming. She smiled at Stiles and Derek could see why the teen had been in love with the girl for so long; she was beautiful and had a way of looking at someone as though they were the only person who existed. “Derek and I thought maybe Jackson could help you figure out how to pull the wolf back under your skin, since he dealt with the kanima-thing.”

 

Stiles’ eyes shifted to Jackson for a minute, then he looked at Derek and whined inquiringly.

 

“Yeah, I know, you two don’t like each other.” Derek had gotten better at reading Stiles’ body language and deciphering the sounds he made in the two weeks since the teen’s first full moon. “But Stiles, we’re halfway through July and you’re no closer to being human again. What the hell are we gonna do when school starts back up again? Your dad’s already having trouble explaining where the hell you’ve been for a month. We need to figure this out, sooner rather than later.”

 

Stiles whined again, and Derek fisted a hand in the fur just behind Stiles’ ears, where the nape of his neck would be if he were human. “Just...try, please? For me.”

 

Derek watched as Stiles seemed to sigh, then turned and walked over to Derek’s bed. He hopped up on it, then laid down, massive head resting on his front paws. He stared at Jackson for a minute, then let out a sharp bark. Derek turned to the beta with a raised eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure he’s waiting for you to join him and start talking.”

 

“Wonderful.” Jackson griped, though he moved across the loft and carefully perched on the edge of the bed. He jumped up a second later when Stiles snarled. “What the hell, Stilinski?”

 

Derek did his best not to laugh, or even smile, as he said. “He doesn’t let anyone but me and Noah - and sometimes Cora - sit on the bed with him. I suggest pulling up a chair. Just don’t get to close.”

 

“You couldn't have told me that before?” Jackson snapped. Derek just shrugged. “God, you’re an asshole. This is why I’m not in your pack.”

 

Derek shrugged again. “You’re not exactly prince charming yourself, Jackson.” Derek shot him a cool look. “You _did_ turn into a murderous lizard, after all. That doesn’t exactly speak highly about your personality.”

 

“Derek...” Lydia chided softly. “Jackson has his issues, but he’s not all bad. He’s here, isn’t he?”

 

“I never said he was all bad.” Derek retorted, though his tone was gentler as he spoke to Lydia. “I wouldn’t have bitten him if I didn’t think he would make a good beta. I think he’s got the potential to be an amazing one, actually, if he’d stop being stubborn and just accept us as the family everyone knows he wants.”

 

Jackson sank onto the recliner he’d carried over to the bed and shot Derek and Lydia a cross look, making Lydia smile softly. “A discussion for another day, perhaps. Once Stiles is sorted.” She tipped her head to the side, strawberry-blonde hair spilling forward over her left shoulder as she added. “I think we should leave them alone, don’t you? Come on, Derek. Buy me Starbucks.”

 

Derek shot Stiles a wary glance, but the teen alpha just tipped his head towards the door and barked again. “Yeah, alright. Stiles, try not to eat Jackson. I don’t want to have to clean up blood when we come back.”

 

Stiles put his head back down and huffed loudly, making Derek laugh even as he followed Lydia out of the loft. He _really_ hoped Jackson could help.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Not sure what they expect me to tell you.” Jackson admitted, studying the canine-like monstrosity that was apparently Stiles Stilinski. “You’re not as ugly as that first alpha. Peter, right? Derek’s uncle. You look more like a wolf. Like a freaky mutant wolf, but still.”

 

Stiles growled softly, and Jackson shifted back in the chair, just a little further from him. “Look, I wish I could help, but I don’t remember much of it. The whole thing is kind of hazy.”

 

Jackson glanced at Stiles and found the same golden-brown eyes he’d grown up around watching him intently. “I guess you might have the same problem, once you shift back, huh? Not remembering. It’s just, when I was the Kanima, I wasn’t _me._ I didn’t think like _me._ It was...for me, it was about what my master wanted. I remember the need to make him happy. I remember the bloodlust; the drive to kill. I don’t know how much of that was me and how much was Matt and Gerard, but it was there and it was _strong._

 

“I remember the fear around water, when Matt was controlling me.” Jackson let his head drop back against the back of the chair, eyes closing as he tried to remember everything he could. “I remember everything in bits and pieces, but I wasn’t thinking when I was like that. It was all instinct and feeling. Everything was about _that moment,_ and I didn’t think much about anything.”

 

Stiles whined, and Jackson opened one eye to see that Stiles was studying him with sad, amber eyes. “I don’t need your pity, Stilinski.” Stiles growled, though his eyes still looked sad, and Jackson sighed. “Yeah, okay. Sympathy, not pity, right? Not much better, if you ask me.”

 

He huffed out a self-deprecating laugh and closed his eyes again. “I know I’m supposed to explain how I finally shifted back. That’s what Lydia told me to tell you about, anyway. But it...it wasn’t like I thought, ‘ _Hey, I think I’d like to not be scaly now.’_ and then changed back. It wasn’t like that at all.

 

“It was more like...like I knew Lydia was there. And I knew she mattered to me. That she was _the_ most important thing to me. More than my master, or what he wanted. More than staying alive. More than _anything.”_ Jackson paused, trying to get the words right; to explain properly. “She mattered, and she was warm and soft and right in front of me, holding up that _stupid_ key I’d given her. My own, shitty way of saying I love you, because I’ve never been good at just saying the words. And it didn’t matter that I was the kanima, not in that moment. Because Lydia was there; she loved me anyway, exactly the way I was. Every part of me, even the ugly parts. The parts I didn’t want to admit where there, or that I hated. She loved it all.”

 

Jackson let out a shaky breath. “She loved every part of me, and that made it easier to sort out which part I wanted to give to her.” He opened his eyes and gave Stiles a weak smile. “It’s easier to do that with the wolf, because I want to give her _all_ of me. The wolf is worthy of touching her, in a way the kanima never could be. That part of me was cold; a killer. I never wanted it to touch her. So I pulled it back, and tucked it back inside me, so it wouldn’t be able to. With the wolf, I just have to decide what I want to touch her _at the moment.”_

 

Stiles growled, and Jackson laughed because he could guess what  _ that  _ meant; what Stiles was thinking. “Not like that, you fucking perv. I just mean that I have to decide if I want to show her the tame parts of me or the wild parts at any given time. She loves them both, so it’s just a matter of what I want her to see right then. Once I accepted both parts of myself, it was simple to shift between them.”

 

After a few minutes of silence, Jackson added. “It’s easier to accept the wolf than it was to accept the kanima, so I don’t know how to help you do that.” He gave the other teen an apologetic look. “I accepted the kanima because _Lydia_ did. The wolf was nothing compared to that, so the acceptance was almost immediate. I guess you just have to figure out why you’re rejecting it - why you can’t reconcile who you are now with who you were before - and then you’ll have to get over it. Once you can let yourself be okay with all of who you are now, you’ll be able to choose which part you want to have in control.”

 

Jackson didn’t really have anything else to say, and Stiles couldn't really contribute, so the former-kanima just closed his eyes and waited for his girlfriend to come back. Stiles would figure the shift out or he wouldn’t; Jackson had done all _he_ could.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Noah sat down beside Stiles on the bed he knew usually belonged to Derek and which had quickly become Stiles’ favorite spot in the loft. He tried not to think about what that meant, because Stiles was only just seventeen and Derek was nearly twenty-three and the whole _werewolf_ thing mixed with the _stuck in alpha-form_ thing was overwhelming enough without adding anything else to the mix. He’d deal with one thing at a time, which was really all any parent could do. Stiles didn’t lift his head, though he did open his eyes. He looked up at them and Noah had the thought that they’d be more at home in the face of a deer than that of a wolf; remembered Claudia teasingly referring to a toddler-aged Stiles as her _little fawn._

 

He reached out and stroked his fingers through Stiles’ rich brown fur, saying softly. “Hey, kiddo. I’m really starting to miss you, you know?” Stiles whined softly, though he didn’t move, and Noah smiled sadly at him. “I know. I’m sure you’d change back if you knew how.”

 

Stiles fell silent and Noah kept petting his son, not knowing what else to do. “I heard Jackson came and talked to you. About shifting back. I don’t really understand the whole thing with Jackson - you’ll have to explain more about what a _kanima_ is when you can - but I’m glad he’s trying to help. I’m glad you _let him_ try to help.”

 

He wasn’t expecting an answer, and he didn’t get one. After a few minutes of silence, Noah tried again.

 

“ So, Jackson told me a little of what he said to you last week. Because I’m trying to understand all of this, since it’s going to be our life from here on out.” Stiles’ eyes flicked over to him and Noah shrugged. “It’s not what I would have chosen for you, but it’s not the worst thing you could’ve fallen into. It’s not drugs, or a gang. You’re not selling yourself. I can roll with  _ magic and supernatural stuff is real,  _ kid. It kind of explains a lot, actually.”

 

Stiles let out a soft huff of air that seemed like an agreement, and Noah took heart from the fact that Stiles was at least replying to him, however minimally.

 

“Jackson said you’re stuck because you haven’t accepted what you are.” Stiles looked away and Noah’s heart ached for him. “Derek told me you never wanted this. Said Peter offered it to you, months ago. Around the time Lydia was hospitalized. You told him no.”

 

Stiles made a pathetic sound, still looking away, and Noah wished he could fix this. Wished Stiles was still little enough that a bandaid and a hug was enough to mend any hurt; when a mug of hot chocolate and some Oreos could make any problem seem insignificant. Wished desperately, for just a moment, that Claudia was here. Because she had always understood Stiles best, and she’d have known just what to say or do about this whole unbelievable mess they were in. But Claudia was gone, and all Stiles had was him. Him, and a pack of werewolves apparently; none of whom seemed able to help.

 

“Look, I’m not going to say I understand any of this, because I don’t.” Noah admitted, because he’d never been afraid to admit when he was struggling. “And I wish to god your mother was here, because she _would_ have. But I’m all you’ve got here, kiddo, and I want you to know that I’m gonna make it work. We’re in this together, and I’m not saying it’s going to be easy because this is far from easy, but we’ll get through it. Together.

 

“And I know you didn’t want this, even if I don’t know _why_ you didn’t.” Noah kept petting Stiles as he spoke, the movement soothing him and hopefully comforting his son. “But it’s the hand you got dealt, so you’re going to have to play it. Ante-up, Stiles. Bluff it, if you have to. But know that, whatever cards you’re holding, I’m here with you. I love you, no matter what.”

 

Noah knew Derek had taken Cora out for lunch; knew he and Stiles were alone in the building and safe from eavesdroppers, at least for the moment. “If you’re holding onto something - something you’re struggling with accepting because of  _ me  _ and what I might think or how I might respond - I want you to let that go, okay? I love you, Stiles. You’re my son, before and above anything else. And if you’re a werewolf, I still love you. If you’re...”

 

Noah hesitated, then plowed ahead because it had to be said, if only because Stiles needed to hear it. “If you’re gay, like you tried to say that one time outside Jungle, then that’s fine too. And if you like both girls _and_ guys, then okay. I’m going to be fine with whoever you eventually bring home, as long as you love them and they treat you right.” Stiles was looking at him again, so Noah kept talking.

 

“I love you no matter what. Human, werewolf, whatever. Gay, straight, bi. If you marry Lydia, or...” Noah briefly considered saying _Scott,_ because Scott’s name was safe; or Danny, who everyone knew was gay. But in the end, this talk was about honesty - for both of them - so he said what he was thinking instead. “Or if you wind up with Derek, because I can see where you’re leaning and how you act around him. You’re running on instinct right now, kiddo, and your instincts are screaming _Derek Hale._ So if it’s worry about what I might think or say that’s holding you back, don’t ever think I’ll do anything other than love you.”

 

Stiles whined, the sound frantic and needy, and pushed forward until he was halfway in Noah’s lap. The Sheriff wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in soft fur, and whispered. “I love you, Stiles, and I miss you like crazy. I just want my kid back, whatever way I can get you. I just want you to come home.”

 

Noah wasn’t really surprised when Stiles didn’t immediately change back. Stiles had always taken a little while to process new information; to think things through and adjust his stance accordingly. He just hoped Stiles would figure things out soon.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Stiles' second full moon since being bitten started much the same way his first had. Derek and Stiles headed out to the Preserve about an hour before sunset, because the younger alpha was already energetic and playful. Thankfully, Derek hadn't lost any more furniture to Stiles' full moon enthusiasm, but he wasn't taking any chances. Once they were in the woods, it was better. Stiles had an outlet for his energy; had the room to run and jump as much as he wanted. It wasn't long after the sun went down that Stiles took off to hunt, with Derek close on his heels. He wondered what Stiles would go after this time. Deer were easy enough prey, and fairly easy to find in the Preserve, but sometimes the wolf wanted a challenge; wanted to take down another predator. It was why they instinctively went after humans.

 

In the end, it was a mountain lion Stiles went after. The big cat put up a fight – clawed the hell out of Stiles' muzzle, though he healed quickly – but Stiles took it down in the end. For the second time, Derek found himself presented with a fresh kill. He studied Stiles' body posture; the way Stiles looked hopeful and proud of himself.

 

“You did good.” Derek praised, voice lower than normal and a bit rumbly. Stiles waited, though, rather than digging in, so Derek reached down and stroked a hand over the animal's side. “It's got a soft pelt. I didn't suggest saving the deer's, because they're not very soft and they shed like crazy _forever,_ but maybe we should remove this a little more carefully so you can keep it. I'm pretty sure the guy who used to treat the pelts from our pack's kills is still in town.”

 

Stiles let out a rumbling sort of noise that was too full of approval to be called a growl and nudged the mountain lion a little with his nose, pushing it a few inches closer to Derek.

 

“I suppose you don't know how to remove the hide neatly...” Derek murmured, and without hesitation he used his claws to do just that.

 

When he'd stripped the pelt away and set it to the side, he tipped his head towards the remains. “Hungry?” Stiles made the barking sound that seemed to mean  _ yes.  _ “ Dig in, then.”

 

Again, Stiles didn't move towards his kill. Instead, he nudged his muzzle against the bloody meat, moving it closer to Derek. It was the strangest behavior; a sort of deference Derek had never seen exhibited by any of Talia's betas. _He_ had certainly never offered his kill to Laura; she was an alpha and more than capable of hunting for herself. She was also older than Derek, not to mention far superior at it. She would have laughed if he'd offered her some of his kill. He still wasn't sure what to make of Stiles' behavior, and he was certainly capable of hunting and killing his own meal, but refusing the gesture felt... _wrong._

 

Derek reached out and used his claws to cut a small chunk of meat off. Stiles shuffled a little closer, tongue licking across his teeth, and along the upper edge of his muzzle. And though he wasn't sure  _ why  _ he was doing it, Derek held the food out to Stiles. The other alpha took it carefully from his fingers, making quick work of it. When Derek popped the next piece he cut away into his own mouth, Stiles finally leaned down and started in on the animal himself. Feeling strangely warm inside, Derek did his best to just enjoy his time with Stiles.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When Derek found himself once again pinned under Stiles after a thrilling chase, he wondered if their last full moon’s behaviors would repeat entirely. Sure enough, Stiles licked along his jaw and throat. Derek reciprocated the gesture, as he had the first time, feeling more settled and sure of it this time. It felt _right,_ the same way that hunting and running with Stiles felt right. The same way Stiles’ scent in his loft felt right. The same way _everything_ with Stiles felt right, even when it shouldn’t have; back when he wasn’t sure if he could trust the teen. Now, Derek knew Stiles would die before he hurt _any_ of the werewolves; knew the teen would fight with everything he had to protect the ones he’d come to care about and those they loved. Knew he could trust Stiles at his back, or when he was sleeping.

 

Before Paige, Derek had struggled with the human side of his nature. Had always favored the wolf, and found it hard to wear a human skin; to rein in the speed and strength that came so easily to him. He’d struggled with the duality inherent in his nature. His mom had told him it would make him stronger one day; that he would be a fitting second to Laura’s alpha-status. But she’d also cautioned him that it would mean his wolf’s instincts would always hold sway, and he’d need to learn when to listen to the human in him. With Paige, the human part of him hadn’t cared for her much at all but the wolf had craved her, almost madly.

 

In the end, it had cost Paige her life. And for the first time in his life, Derek had _hated_ the wolf in him.

 

He’d been struggling with that - with what he was - when Kate had sunk her teeth into him. She’d preyed on his confusion; his inability to listen to both sides of himself at the same time. The wolf hadn’t known what to make of  Kate; had been hurting from the loss of Paige and was desperate for affection. The human parts of him had been too naive and innocent to see what Kate was doing; to understand that she never should have been touching him the way she was. He’d been a mess, and an easy victim, and his wolf had wanted someone to soothe it. Kate had done that well, and she’d ripped the whole world down around Derek in the process. Had turned his life to soot and ash and pain; had laughed the whole time at what an _idiot_ he’d been. Led by his baser instincts like the _dumb animal_ he was.

 

So, in the wake of the fire, Derek had clung desperately to his human half. He’d pushed the wolf down; had gritted human teeth rather than baring fangs and had gained control with an iron fist anchored in place by anger at the havoc his wolf had wreaked. He’d clung to that control with a furious desperation through everything, shifting only when absolutely necessary. He’d pushed his human form to the limits and beyond, determined to be as strong as possible _without_ the shift; to make his human form as close to the wolf’s equal as possible so he could rely on the shift less. It wasn’t ideal; cutting away half of himself - the half he’d loved best, once - was painful in ways he couldn't begin to explain. But Derek was terrified of what his wolf wanted; terrified of how easily it had been led astray.

 

Now...now, Derek couldn't be afraid. Not of _this;_ not of _Stiles._ Because Derek had come to trust the teenager as a human, and it was no surprise that his wolf trusted him as well. Everything about Stiles called to some part of Derek; felt _right_ in ways no one and nothing ever had before. He had spent so long dealing with the duality inside of him that to have both parts in agreement felt like heaven; like peace; like _home._

 

So when Stiles backed away, letting Derek up, and bared his throat...Derek did the only thing he could think to. He threw his head back, howled as long and as loud as he could, and gave the wolf control.

 

He could feel the shift moving over him like a wave. Could feel his bones and muscles and skin reshaping themselves between one heartbeat and the next. It felt effortless; felt like everything he’d been made for. And when he opened his eyes, he _knew_ he was a wolf. Not an alpha-shift the way Stiles was, but a _wolf._ Like Laura had been. Like Talia had been. Like generations of Hales had been, as far back as records went. Derek couldn't hold back the joy coursing through him, so he barked and jumped and then crouched down to growl playfully at Stiles, wanting to share this with him.

 

For a moment Stiles just stared at him, then his outline went blurry around the edges. And then, as quick as a blink, a tawny wolf stood where Stiles’ alpha-form had been seconds earlier.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Stiles raised his head when Derek howled, wondering at the sheer power in the sound. Wondered, too, at the reckless abandonment of control it heralded. Derek, who seemed incapable of accepting the wolf inside of him to the extent that he couldn't manage more than a beta shift. More than that, that he couldn't understand Stiles more than half the time. Cora _always_ knew what Stiles meant. Hell, _Jackson_ had picked up on Stiles’ wolf-language faster than Derek had and he’d started his shifter-life as a _lizard._ But Derek, who had been born as much wolf as human, was so out of touch with that part of himself that he couldn't understand him.

 

And Stiles was left wondering if he wouldn’t have been better off human, even if it had meant he wound up dead. If someone like Derek, who’d been _born_ like this, couldn't accept it...how could Stiles? How could he _ever_ be happy this way, when he’d never asked for it or wanted it? When he’d resisted it with everything in him? He didn’t know how to reconcile the two things - the wolf who had saved his life by swallowing down the power of three alphas, and the human he’d been before that. Had no idea what to do with the wolf, who was protecting him the only way it knew how; by locking him out until he could accept it.

 

Stiles knew that the wolf was afraid Stiles would anchor it down; chain it up and not give it an inch. And honestly, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t do just that if he was given half a chance. Because the wolf _scared_ him, having brought him nothing but pain.

 

But as he watched, from behind the wolf’s red-tinted eyes, Derek’s shape changed. He sprouted thick, black fur all over his body. Hands and feet became paws. A tail appeared, and a muzzle, and soon enough Stiles was looking at a huge black wolf. Seconds after that, Derek’s joy became apparent.

 

The alpha barked, and jumped, and tried to engage Stiles in play. He was energized, and playful, and clearly happier than Stiles had ever seen him. And watching it - watching as Derek _finally_ made peace with the wolf - it was suddenly the easiest thing in the world for Stiles to do the same. Because he _wanted that._ Wanted to play with Derek under the light of the full moon. Wanted to run through the trees with him, and hunt with him, and pin him to the forest floor with snarls that were a tease rather than a threat. Wanted to _know him,_ every part, because he was suddenly sure that Derek was so much more than he showed the world.

 

And in that moment, Stiles stopped trying to hold the wolf back; stopped scrambling desperately for the control that the wolf had refused to concede.

 

The look on Derek’s face let Stiles know all he needed to know. He was no longer trapped between wolf and human; no longer a mutant hybrid of the two. Instead, he was a _wolf,_ true and pure. Like Derek. And nothing could have made him happier.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Derek yipped excitedly, then tackled Stiles. With both of them in wolf-form, he was once again the larger of the two and easily took Stiles down. But rather like his human form, Stiles’ wolf was lithe and quick and wily. It took him only a few moments to slip free of Derek and take off running. Derek chased him down, darting quickly between the trees. He felt happier and more free than he had since he was a teenager himself. Stiles was racing ahead of him, sleek body flashing in and out of view as he moved. Derek tried to remember where they were in the Preserve, and then tried to decide where Stiles might head; what direction he might take.

 

Then, Derek veered off to one side, determined to cut Stiles off; to catch him and pin him down and...well, Derek would worry about that when the time came.

 

It took a few minutes, but finally Derek was barreling into Stiles’ side, rolling him onto his back and pinning him beneath him. The smaller wolf yelped, scrambling to escape, but Derek just growled playfully and dropped his weight down on him to hold him in place. After another few seconds, Stiles fell still and tipped his head to the right, baring his throat. Derek leaned down, closing his jaw lightly around the side of Stiles’ neck, growling again. Stiles whined, but didn’t move. Derek listened to his steady heartbeat, and felt awed by the trust implicit in both that and the act of having bared his throat at all.

 

He released Stiles’ throat, then leaned down to lick over Stiles’ muzzle. It was the first time he’d initiated the gesture, and it was the first time he _understood_ it. He knew what it meant; knew why Stiles kept submitting to him, despite being arguably stronger. Knew why Stiles had shared his kills, and slept on Derek’s bed, surrounded by his scent. He understood what Stiles wanted from him, and he wanted it, too. Wanted _Stiles._ Wanted to be a proper alpha-pair, mated and ruling their pack together. Wanted Stiles by his side, always.

 

Because Stiles had never flinched from what Derek was. Had stood toe-to-toe with him when he’d been just a human, never backing down no matter how afraid he was. He had protected Derek and saved his life, while also relying on Derek to save _him;_ to do the things he himself couldn't. Stiles had never pretended Derek was human; never seemed to forget that Derek had been _born_ a wolf. He’d accepted that Derek was _different,_ and somehow he’d wanted him anyway. He’d accepted all of Derek with greater ease than he’d accepted all of _himself,_ and it had been Derek finally giving in to the wolf that had allowed Stiles to give in as well.

 

Stiles wanted all of Derek, and Derek wanted all of him in turn.

 

And for the first time in his entire life, Derek shook off a shift with ease. A blink of the eyes, and Derek was human again. He backed off of Stiles, letting the wolf get to his feet. Then he smiled, so wide it made his cheeks hurt, and threw himself forward, heedless of his nudity. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ neck, burying his face in the soft fur of Stiles’ throat, trembling all over. He wasn’t even sure if it was joy, or nerves, or exhaustion that was making him shake. He only knew that Stiles wouldn’t judge him for it; wouldn’t think him weak for showing emotion.

 

When he finally felt steady again, Derek pulled back. His face was damp with tears, but he wasn’t embarrassed at all. Not with Stiles. So he just smiled again, albeit a bit less maniacally. “I’m so proud of you.” He said, voice soft and earnest. “I’m so proud of _us,_ Stiles. I know you know Laura could shift into a wolf, but did you know that my mom could, too? The great Alpha Talia Hale, feared and loved by werewolves everywhere. She was larger than life sometimes, but to me she was just _Mom._ I never dreamed I’d be able to do that, too. Be a wolf...or come back from being one.”

 

Stiles nuzzled his head under Derek’s chin and Derek held him close, stroking his fingers through Stiles’ fur. “Thank you, Stiles. Thank you _so_ much, for helping me do this. For doing this _with me._ If I couldn't share this with Mom, or with Laura, I’m glad I got to share it with you.”

 

And quite suddenly, Derek’s hands were sliding over sleek, smooth skin. He lifted his head from where it was resting on soft hair, eyes wide, and looked down to lock gazes with startled fawn eyes. “He-ey, Sourwolf.” Stiles rasped, voice scratchy with disuse. Derek imagined that wouldn’t last more than a few minutes.

 

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other, only an inch or so between their faces. Stiles was still sitting sideways across Derek’s lap, and Derek’s hands were still resting lightly on Stiles’ back. A few heartbeats later, Stiles’ eyes widened further and he whispered. “We’re  _ naked.” _

 

Derek threw his head back and  _ laughed. _

 

Then he looked down at Stiles; at the teen’s flushed face and mussed hair and wide eyes. And, still smiling, Derek leaned in and kissed him, full on the lips. When he drew back a few seconds later, he murmured. “Yes, we are. Do you want to make a break for the loft like this, or call someone to bring us clothes?”

 

Stiles gaped at him, then slowly started to smile. “I think...” He paused, then darted forward, kissing Derek again, quick and light and _so_ sweet. “I think we should run. As wolves.”

 

And after wiggling off of Derek’s lap - blushing all the way down his slender chest - Stiles shifted back into the tawny wolf. He barked once, happily, then gave Derek a wolfy grin, all teeth and lolling tongue. Grinning widely back, Derek shifted as well. As soon as his paws hit the dirt, Derek took off running towards home. Stiles was right beside him all the way.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Cora frowned at the sound of paws outside the loft’s door. She turned her head, shushing the other wolves with a few rapid hand gestures. The steps were too light to be Stiles, and there were too many of them, anyway. It almost sounded like a couple of dogs. The next thing Cora heard was claws - _dog_ claws, not werewolf claws - scratching at the door, and a pleading whine that was _definitely_ canine. Before she could plead caution, Scott was across the loft and opening the door. But then, the teen worked at a vet’s office; he was known for being a bit of a sucker when it came to animals.

 

When two wolves streaked into the loft - one golden as sun-streaked whiskey, the other black as pitch - Cora’s heart lodged in her throat. The golden-brown one had an animal skin in its mouth, which it dropped near the bottom of the stairs before sitting there, clearly waiting. When the big black wolf flashed red eyes at her, Cora’s legs gave out under her. She hit her knees _hard,_ a keening wail spilling past her lips. Seconds after, Derek’s arms were around her and he was crooning soothingly in her ear as she sobbed into his bare chest, uncaring about his nudity. Nakedness was a fact of life in a werewolf family and hadn’t bothered her in, well... _ever,_ really.

 

“ I’m sorry...” Derek was repeating, voice wrecked as he rubbed his cheek against her hair to scent her. “God, Cora, I’m  _ so  _ sorry. I didn’t think. I wouldn’t have...I’m  _ sorry,  _ I...”

 

“Shut up.” Cora finally choked out around the tears, leaning back to hit him on the chest. Not hard, but firm enough to make him stop talking and pay attention. “God, you’re an idiot, Der. You know that, right?” Then she smiled through the tears and added. “You look _just_ like Mom. You know, minus the penis.”

 

And then Derek was laughing with her before pressing a kiss to her dark hair. “I’m gonna go get clothes for me and Stiles.” He told her, even as he let her go, still grinning. “We’ll be right back down, okay?”

 

Cora turned to look at the tawny wolf, and asked softly. “Can you shift back now?” Stiles nodded, but didn’t do it and, after a few seconds, Cora laughed again as she realized  _ why. _ “ Not interested in flashing all of us?”

 

Stiles barked and headed up the spiral staircase. Derek followed him, not really caring that he was naked. It was part of being in a pack. Stiles would stop being embarrassed eventually. So would the others.

 

It didn’t take them long to dress, though Stiles spared a few minutes to kiss Derek before they headed back downstairs. 

 

Derek immediately shooed Isaac out of his favorite armchair, the beta tripping over to settle next to Scott on the loveseat. Stiles hesitated for only an instant before settling himself on Derek’s lap, nuzzling into the older man’s throat. Erica looked like Christmas had come early, and Derek shot her a quelling look. She mimed zipping her lips, but the wicked look on her face didn’t inspire a lot of faith. Beside her on the larger couch, Boyd rolled his eyes, but gave Derek a small smile that he took to be approval. Cora, who was sitting on Erica’s other side, looked smug and pleased.

 

Isaac seemed quietly considering, and Scott looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. But then, he’d never been Derek’s biggest fan and he consider Stiles’ recent behavior a betrayal so that wasn’t surprising. Jackson was sitting on the other armchair, and he seemed both unsurprised and uncaring. Derek actually found his reaction reassuring. At least _one_ of the betas wasn’t all in his and Stiles’ business.

 

“The Sheriff is going to shoot you.” Scott finally snapped, glaring at Derek. “We’re not eighteen yet, and you’re all _on_ his son.”

 

Stiles sighed, then lifted his head and shot Scott an unimpressed look. “First off, you had sex with Allison when you were _sixteen_ so shut up. Second off, _if_ Derek and I are dating, or kissing, or having sex - and I’m not saying we’ve done any of those things, just listing examples - then it’s _not_ your business. And third off, Dad already gave me permission to date Derek. So fuck you, because you don’t speak for _my dad.”_

 

“Your dad gave you permission?” Derek asked, stunned.

 

“Oh, uh...yeah.” Derek loved the way Stiles blushed; the way the rosy color spread across his pale skin, highlighting his moles. “When I was still stuck. Dad said he didn’t care who I dated, or that I was a werewolf. You know, supportive stuff. And he sort of specifically mentioned you.”

 

Cora snickered. “Well, it _was_ kind of obvious that you were courting my brother.” She pointed out, rolling her eyes when Derek glared at her. “Just because _you_ were oblivious doesn’t mean the rest of us were, Der.”

 

There was silence for a few minutes, then Jackson asked. “So does this mean I have to accept Stilinski as my alpha if I want to join your pack?”

 

Stiles blinked at Jackson, then turned to stare at Derek. “Does it?”

 

“Yes.” Derek nodded immediately. “It’s _our_ pack now. So you’ll need to submit to _both_ of us, if you want to be a part of it.” He glanced at his other betas and added. “That goes for you guys, too.”

 

Scott was the only one who didn’t immediately vocalize his assent, but Derek wasn’t worried. He had a feeling the reluctant beta would come to heel soon enough. His biggest concern was actually Peter, but he imagined his uncle would submit to Stiles readily enough. And Stiles would accept him, for the sake of the pack as a whole. And for Derek. He had a feeling there wasn’t much Stiles _wouldn’t_ do for him.

 

As the pack started talking about other things - the conversation turning back to whatever it had been before they’d arrived - Stiles asked softly. “You really want this? Me as your mate, I mean. Running things with you. At your side. The whole nine yards.”

 

“Yeah.” Derek told him, tightening his grip around Stiles’ waist just a little. “Now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go. Not for anything.”

 

And as Stiles melted into him, smelling content, a wave of what could only be called _love_ washed along their pack bond. For Derek, nothing had ever felt better. His wolf rumbled contentedly and Derek felt utterly at peace, with himself and the world.

 

And Stiles?

 

Well, it might not have been what he’d once pictured for himself, or what he’d thought he wanted, but there was one thing he was absolutely sure of. A lifetime with Derek was going to be _so much better_ than anything he’d ever dreamed up for himself. It was going to be _everything._

  _ **~**_ _ **The**_ _**End**_ _**~**_

 

 


End file.
